


Pictures Of You

by FeelsForBreakfast



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2017-12-12 21:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 28,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelsForBreakfast/pseuds/FeelsForBreakfast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis decides that she likes taking pictures of Harry. Niall and Zayn are pretty sure it's a thing. Harry would like to assure them that it's not, but she might be lying.</p><p>(dandelions, old sadness, and happy endings)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't a two chaptered fic ! This is two versions of the same fic, one written in 2013 (the first chapter) and another edited in 2015 (the second chapter). While editing, I fixed some of the dialogue, cut diverting scenes, added background, and solidified some weak places. While I think the reboot is better, you are definitely welcome to read whatever appeals to you. Hope you all enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the music found in the original version of this fic can be found  
> here: http://grooveshark.com/#!/playlist/Louis+Playlist/86872222  
> here: http://grooveshark.com/#!/playlist/Harry+s+Playlist/86872370  
> and here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSi_FE52TAY

“Just drop it.” Harry says, slamming her locker shut and hoisting her backpack higher up her shoulders. 

“Harry seriously?” It’s Niall, following her around with all the determination of a lost puppy. “I swear to God you are not bailing on me again, you need to get out of that house.”

“No can do, Niall.” Harry replies, digging in the pockets of her enormous flannel for her case of cigarettes. It’s vintage, something Zayn snagged for her from the thrift shop he works at. Zayn is the best at gifts, at what’s been deemed ‘handling Harry’, because apparently Harry is something that needs to be ‘handled’ now. 

“I know you don’t have homework.” Niall pesters. “It’s Friday and we are literally taking the same classes.”

“I’m tired, Niall.” Harry replies, giving him a halfhearted smile. It’s been a long day of paying attention and doing homework and Harry wants to crawl under her covers and not move for ninety days.

“Give me a real one and I’ll stop bothering you.” Niall says, cutting her off before she reaches the door.

“A real what?” Harry replies, even though she has a fairly good idea of what Niall is asking about. Still, she’s not instigating that if she can help it.

“A smile you fuck.” Niall replied, crossing his arms over his scrawny chest, looking extremely put out. “I know you still know how.”

Sometimes it feels like it’s been forever since Harry was that girl, lifetimes and lifetimes ago, like the version of her who pranced around with curls and grins that went all the way to her eyes is lost in some other universe. It was only last year. 

She tries her best to configure her face into a caricature of what it used to be, wide eyes and wide grin. She drops the expression, raising her eyebrows at Niall. “Better?”

He shakes his head, but lets her by. “Next week, yeah?”

She nods, giving him the half quirk of her lips that passes for a smile now. “Next week, promise.” She tells him, because she knows they’re all tired of picking up the pieces, Zayn and Niall both. She needs to get her shit together but she can’t because the bad parts still stick to her skin and the guilt makes her blood run black and she never really told them how bad it was. She thinks they know.

When she gets home, she doesn’t stay there. Niall is right, she does need to get out of the house, because it hangs heavy with bad memories and it smells like failure if she breathes in too deep. She scans the mess of pencils and sketchpads on her desk, picking up one with thick creamy parchment paper she spent too much money on. She’s trying to save it for special occasions but when she picks it up it feels right in her hands. 

She walks to the forest instead of driving, her converse slipping around on her feet because they’ve been worn so often the rubber support has started to crack. It’s nearly a mile and a half but she finds she doesn’t mind so much, letting the cloudy afternoon drip into her fingers. 

She smokes a cigarette, then a second because she’s feeling indulgent. Niall has been pestering her to quit for weeks, but she likes having something to hold in her hands. She wraps her fingers around the paper plane necklace she wears most days instead of having a third, tugging so she can feel the chain press into the back of her neck. 

She veers off the main road and onto the path that leads into the forest preserve, the gravel crunching under her feet as she treads the ribbon where the road meets the underbrush. She can hear birds in the trees above her, soft trilling and high calls that make her feel like she isn’t quite alone.

She follows one of the paths, the ones that aren’t quite grass but aren’t quite dirt either. It’s truly lovely, misty air getting into her skin. There’s a chill but it’s not chilly, and she pushes up the sleeves of her flannel, taking a deep breath of air that cleans out her smoky lungs.

The clouds hang heavy in the trees, making everything green and gray in the muted springtime. Harry reaches into her bag, pulling out the dirty patchwork quilt and laying it on a relatively dry log, settling down with her sketchpad. 

The thing about drawing is that it comes easy, even when other things don’t. She’d grown up drawing, doodles of tiny people with pretty hair and kittens with fluffy tails. Now she draws soft limbed fairies and trees with birdhouses hidden in the limbs. Sometimes she draws things that don’t have names yet. 

She isn’t sure how long she’s been sketching, drawing up the twisty maple tree in front of her, inventing elaborate mushrooms to encircle the base, arranging them in a circle. When her dad used to take her to the forest, back before things fell out, he used to point them out to her; fairy rings he’d called them.

It’s only the flash of a camera that jolts her out of her reverie, jarring her pencil and making her look up in shock. Standing in the brush in front of her is a girl, blue eyes wide and surprised, a heavy looking camera held in her hands.

They stare at each other for a moment, and Harry feels like a fawn caught in the forest, awkward and stumbling and frozen in place. 

The other girl smiles guiltily. “Oops.”

Harry stares up at her. “Hi?”

“You looked peaceful, I hope you don’t mind?” Her voice is strange, high but rough somehow, like gravel and honey and Harry wants to hear her say more words. “Like this is actually so creepy, wow, but I was just walking around and you looked like a picture? Like a picture I wanted to take?”

Harry nods, slowly, pulling her sketchpad up to her chest and resting her chin on the top of it. “It’s okay.” The other girl is pretty, short brown hair tied back with a bandana and a big sweater nearly the same dark green as evergreen trees in the winter. Harry thinks she might recognize her from somewhere but can’t quite place her, thinks she’d remember a face like that. 

“I normally ask,” The girl supplies, fiddling with her camera. “But I didn’t want to disturb you? Sorry I don’t even know you, I’m Louis. Tomlinson.” 

Harry recognizes it, one of the names that gets thrown around when Niall and Zayn talk about pretty girls. “You go to my school.”

Her face lights up. “Do I? I don’t think I’ve seen you around. What’s your name?” She speaks in excited bursts and she’s a lot for Harry to handle, so much energy and brightness all caught up in her small body. 

“Harry.” 

“That’s so cool.” She walks down the path, coming down to sit next to Harry on her blanket. Harry would have asked permission, but she’s known Louis for about a minute and she’s already unsurprised that she hadn’t. “Because like, it’s a boy’s name but it totally fits you.” She smiles wide. “Harry. I like it.”

Harry shrugs, offering her a tiny little smile. “Your name is nice too.”

She smiles wide. “Thanks.” She always seems to be doing something with her hands, twirling her fingers around or playing with the strap of her camera. She’s reaching for the longstemmed yellow flowers growing up behind them, picking a few and laying them in her lap. “Do you mind if I take more pictures of you?”

“I don’t mind.” Harry replies, chewing mindlessly on her eraser. Louis doesn’t make her nervous per-se, something closer to alert. Louis makes her feel like she needs to pay attention, like she’s on the verge of something important and if Harry blinks she’ll miss it. “Why are you taking them?”

“Because you’re pretty!” Louis says, braiding the stems together in a messy chain. “I like pictures. I have a blog and everything.”

Harry laughs quietly. “Real professional photographer, eh?”

Louis looks over at her, configuring her face into a scowl. “I’m working on it! I just like pictures a lot. Maybe someday.”

“That’s really nice.” Harry says, because Louis is excitable and pretty and she hugs her camera to her stomach like she loves it. 

“Yep.” Louis affirms, holding the chain up to Harry’s head and grinning like nothing has ever made her happier. 

“Are you making me a flower crown?” Harry asks, staring down at Louis’ hands as she deftly ties off the ends. 

“I thought you could use a little more whimsy.” Louis says, placing it carefully on Harry’s head. She has gentle hands, they’re soft when they brush against Harry’s cheeks. She smells like coconut and lime and the way summer afternoons feel.

“Can’t have too much whimsy.” Harry concedes, watching as Louis hops back up, standing on the path with her camera in hand. “Do you want me to keep drawing?”

Louis shrugs. “Do whatever you want.”

Harry nods slowly, unable to keep a bemused smile off her face. “I’ll just keep drawing.”

“Okay.” Louis smiles wide, raising her camera and taking another snapshot. Harry can keep track of every time she takes a picture because the flash washes out the forest like lightning. It should be distracting, but the real distraction is Louis. There’s an energy about her that Harry likes, that’s infectious and lovely and makes it a little hard to concentrate. If the camera flash is the lightning then Louis is definitely the storm. 

Harry looks up during a particularly long break between flashes to find Louis looking down at her, camera held in her hands, a peculiar look on her face. Harry can feel a hopeful warmth growing in her chest, but she isn’t going to think those thoughts, not about someone she’s just met, not about someone who will probably never feel that way. Harry gives her a tiny wave that seems to break whatever spell she’d fallen under. 

Louis laughs, ducking her head. “Sorry, you just really look like a picture. I can’t get over it.”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t mind.” People aren’t Harry’s favorite, not anymore, but Louis is nice and unabashedly herself and Harry likes that. “Did you get a lot of good shots?”

Louis nods, blue eyes practically aglow, turning shy after a moment. “Can I see what you’re drawing?”

“I guess.” Harry says, lowering the sketch pad so Louis can see the tree with all its winding branches and mushrooms, exotic birds roosting near the top. 

“It’s magical.” Louis breathes, reaching out to touch the paper before she stops herself. She reaches for her camera instead. “Can I?”

“Yes.” Harry says, holding it so she can get a good shot.

Louis smiles, standing up a little straighter. “Thankyou. You know, for all the pictures.” 

Harry stands once she’s finished, straightening her flannel and folding the sketchpad shut. “It was nice to meet you.”

“I’ll see you again, right?” Louis asks, looking up at Harry. She’s shorter than Harry first thought, all soft curves and a petulant set to her mouth like she isn’t used to being ignored. 

“Sure. At school maybe.” Harry replies, because she knows this is probably the last time she’s going to be alone with Louis. She accepts that. Louis is cool and nice and so beautiful she wants to die, and Harry can barely tie her own shoelaces.

“I want to take more pictures of you.” Louis says, and Harry thinks she can see a blush color her cheeks. 

“Just sneak up on me again.” Harry says, holding up the blanket and shoving it back in her bag. “You can take pictures of me whenever you want.”

“Promise?” Louis says, walking with her down the path that leads back to the main road.

Harry looks over at her. “Yes, I promise.”

Louis smiles, skipping back towards the road and waiting for Harry to catch up. “Good!”

Harry rolls her eyes, but can’t help being endeared.

 

xx

 

She doesn’t take the flower crown off until she gets home, laying it on her desk next to her papers because she can’t bear to get rid of it. It’s delicate and pretty and it reminds her of Louis.

She likes that.

 

xx

 

It turns out that even though she doesn’t happen across Louis at school, Louis hunts her down. She accosts Harry when she’s trying to get her finicky lock open, bounding up to her with an enthusiasm it seems even high school can’t quash. 

“Hey Harry, sorry to bother you, but I wanted to tell you I put the pictures up. They look really nice. Like really nice.” She smiles, leaning up against the locker next to Harry’s. “You’re so photogenic.”

Harry finally tugs the lock undone, opening the door so Louis’ face is blocked. Louis takes the opportunity to tug the door back, leaning up close to Harry and holding out a piece of paper. “Here, I wrote my url on here. You can look at them if you want.” Her eyes fall on the sketches Harry has stuck on the inside of her locker. “Oh god those are so pretty.”

“Is your brain just a constant stream of consciousness or can you shut it off?” Harry asks, going for disapproval and ending up with amusement. 

“Pretty much constant stream. No filter to speak of.” She replies, smiling wide. “Though I can be quiet. If asked.”

“I highly doubt that.” Harry replies, pulling at the door until Louis takes the hint and steps back.

Louis grabs one of Harry’s hands, prying it open with delicate fingers and placing the slip of paper on her palm, curling it back into a fist when she’s done. “I can. Sometimes. When I decide I want to.”

Harry rolls her eyes. “Sure you can.”

“I can!” Louis protests, following Harry to the doors. 

“You’re something else, Louis.” Harry says, giving her a small smile. 

Louis smiles wide, her eyes goes all crinkly at the edges. “You have to tell me what you think about the pictures.”

“I will.” Harry replies, and her hands are on the door but she isn’t quite ready to leave yet. Louis is magnetic and Harry feels abruptly stuck in her pull. 

“You better not just be saying that to make me happy.” Louis says, giving her a sweet little grin, the sort that makes Harry want to kiss her lips and touch her palms. 

“I am saying it to make you happy.” Harry replies. “But I’ll do it, I promise.”

Louis nods, apparently appeased. And Harry still isn’t quite sure why Louis has decided to talk to her but she likes this, because Louis is bright and it’s easy to forget about the darkness in the presence of someone steeped in so much light.

 

xx

 

Harry does check, booting up her dinosaur of a laptop, unrolling the scrap of paper she’d kept in her pocket all the way home and decoding Louis’ slanted handwriting. Harry rolls her eyes as she types backtothediamonds into the nav bar. Of course Louis would have a cryptically named hipster blog. The funny thing about Louis is that she is simultaneously confounding and hilariously predictable. Harry suspects she is the sort of girl who plans her outfits the night before and owns at least ten colors of nail polish. Despicable.

The page loads up, and Harry is abruptly staring at herself in her enormous black watch flannel, the daisy chain resting on her head like a crown. She thinks she understands what Louis meant about looking like a picture she wanted to take.

There’s something about how the pale light catches her hair and the way the greenery seems to curl around her that makes her chest feel all weird. It’s beautiful. 

Louis took her and made her beautiful.

 

xx

 

“I need you to tell me everything you know about Harry Styles.” Louis says, laying on Perrie’s bed with her homework strewn across the quilt. “Who does she hang out with? Why did I only meet her yesterday?”

Perrie laughs, tossing a piece of popcorn at Louis. “And why would you need to know that, buttercup?”

Louis affixes Perrie with a glare, which is deflected by another piece of popcorn to Louis’ face. Perrie is not a good friend. Perrie is a mean friend who likes to watch Louis suffer. “Because she’s prettyyyyy.” Louis whines, hoping that if she’s annoying as possible maybe Perrie will cave without too much talk about gross things like feelings. 

“She’s pretty so you need to know everything about her?” Perrie asks through a mouthful of popcorn.

Louis nods morosely, turning so she’s laying face down on the bed. “Yes.”

“You’ve got it baaaaad!” Perrie sing songs. 

Louis moans forlornly. “Just give me details.” She lowers her voice to a whisper she’s been reliably informed is borderline terrifying. “So I can seduce her.”

Perrie hums quietly, spinning her desk chair around in slow circles, tapping furiously at her iphone. “Well, she has 347 friends on facebook.”

“Fantastic start.” Louis grumbles, pout firmly affixed on her face. She’d gone on Harry’s facebook profile the night before, but had been forced to stare at her profile picture while she waited in vain for Harry to accept her friend request. Even her profile picture was stupidly cute, her sitting on the beach in a sweatshirt and swim bottoms, a popsicle in hand. She’s tan and long limbed and it’s going to give Louis actual heart failure.

“Not so fast, we’re just getting started.” Perrie says with a grin. “You see, Harry and I are friends, so I can snoop all I want.”

Louis perks up, setting her chin on her hands and giving Perrie a beseeching look. “Tell me everything.”

“It says Niall and Zayn are her ‘brothers.’ That’s not bad, they’re good guys.”

“Do you think they have designs on her? Do I have competition?” Louis asks, a predatory glint in her eyes. “I could probably take Zayn in hand to hand combat. He’s a scrawny thing really, I could win.”

Perrie laughs, tossing another piece of popcorn in Louis’ general direction. “Oh lookie here.” She smiles, wiggling her phone in front of Louis’ face. “Interested in men _and_ women.”

Louis throws up a fist in victory. “I’m a woman!”

Perrie rolls her eyes. “You’re a nuisance.”

“I’m lovely.” Louis replies, smiling up at Perrie like the angel that she is.

Perrie ignores her. Louis thinks that part of the reason they’ve been friends for so long is that Perrie is very good at tuning her out. “She is really cute. I think I remember talking to her sophomore year maybe?”

“Maybe. I feel like I’d remember her. She’s lovely. Oh god she’s so lovely I can’t fucking handle it. I think I have a crush Pez. I think this is a crush.” Louis sits up, grimacing. “I hate crushes I quit.”

Perrie laughs, spinning around in amusement. “This is fun already!”

Louis shoots her a dour look. “Stop deriving enjoyment from my pain. How do I get her to fall in love with me?”

“Ask her out.” Perrie says, picking at the hole in her jeans. “That usually works for me.”

“I could use hypnosis? Maybe?” Louis says, tugging at her mussed up hair. “Or like, a love potion? Do you think there are any that actually work?”

“Just ask her out!” Perrie replies. “Make her go see a movie with you or something.”

Louis pretends to look affronted. “I can’t just invite her to a movie. She’ll think it’s a date, it’ll be weird.”

“Don’t you want it to be a date?” Perrie asks, her blue eyes far too wise for Louis’ taste.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t want to make it weird.” Louis clarifies, because she is smooth and sophisticated and the prospect of asking Harry on a date doesn’t make her want to hide under her bed and never come out again.

“Sweetheart I know you, and there is no possible way you won’t make it weird.” 

Louis sticks her tongue out, because she is not above acting like a child. “Some friend you are.”

Perrie raises a hand like she’s about to throw more popcorn at Louis, but seems to think better of it, considering it all ends up on her bed anyway. “I’m just saying that you should stop being a wuss and do it because you’re you and so it’s going to be dramatic and over the top and if Harry doesn’t want that she is not only crazy but also unworthy.”

“She isn’t unworthy.” Louis mumbles, from where she’s faceplanted in the pile of pillows at the top of Perrie’s bed, but she’s smiling.

 

xx

 

“Harry!” She recognizes the voice behind her, shoving her hands deep in the pockets of her surplus jacket and turning around, finding Louis wearing a bright blue peacoat, tight red jeans and a smile that’s dangerous. 

“Yeah, hey.” Harry says, shaking her mess of brown curls out of her face. “I looked at the pictures, they were really nice.” Nice is a understatement, she’s looked through all 340 pages of Louis’ blog in the last week, pouring over her pictures and trying to figure out what makes her tick. She thinks it might be turning into an obsession, and hopes that’s not too creepy.

Louis’ face falls imperceptibly, and Harry feels a little bad. She’s not great at large displays of emotion, it’s so much easier if she doesn’t have to care, if she can curl up in her jacket and just listen. 

“I mean, I really like them. You take really beautiful pictures.” Louis just looks at her, wide blue eyes like she’s hanging off Harry’s every word. “I mean it.”

Louis shrugs, smiling like she knows how cute she is. “You’re just a photogenic subject.”

Harry shakes her head. “No, all of them were great.”

“You looked at all of them?” Louis asks, her eyes lit up electric blue.

“Well, yeah.” Harry replies, ducking her head. “Was I not supposed to?”

“Well I mostly just wanted you to see the ones of you, but I’m glad you saw all of them.” She says, then, “Can I walk you home?”

“If you want.” Harry says, because her house is tiny and ramshackle but she’d grown tired of other people’s opinions long before she became quiet Harry. There’s no use trying to please everyone, it only makes you sour and sad inside because sooner or later you’re going to realize you can’t.

“Of course I want!” Louis confirms, having the decency to at least look a little embarrassed by the volume of the outburst. Harry thinks that sometimes Louis has trouble keeping all of her wrapped up inside, that sometimes bits and pieces of Louis fly out without her permission. “Which way?”

Harry starts down her street, beckoning Louis to follow her. The grass is green as they tramp across her neighbor’s lawns, the cool blue sky high above them signaling spring even as she has to curl into her jacket to keep warm. 

“So what’s your deal?” Harry asks, because she can be personable and friendly when she wants to. “You’re going to be a photographer?”

Louis shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “I’d love to. I have more cameras than friends to be honest.”

Harry laughs, giving Louis a little sideways smile. “That’s a lot of cameras.”

“Only three.” Louis replies, even though Harry knows she has far more than three friends. Louis plays volleyball, she’s friends with the jocks and the preps and everyone in between because she’s pretty and a little crazy and god if that doesn’t mean Harry’s half in love with her. 

Not that Harry has been paying attention to whom Louis is friends with.

“You’re absolutely full of shit Louis.” Harry says, unlatching her front gate. She thinks at one point her house was charming and suburban, but it’s mostly just depressing now, chipping white paint and sad blue shutters, a lawn that’s more dandelions than anything else. “Three friends my fucking ass.”

“I only have three!” Louis protests as she follows Harry up the crumbling concrete walk. “Perrie, Liam...” She trails off. “Fuck I only have two!”

Harry rolls her eyes. “Are you loitering on my porch because you want to come in or because you’ve forgotten you technically only wanted to walk me home?”

“Because I want to come in.” Louis replies brightly, apparently immune to normal social constructs of courtesy.

“Starting to understand why you only have two friends, Lou.” Harry says, jamming her key into the lock and shoving her entire body weight against the door until it decides to open.

“Rude.” Louis replies, letting Harry lead her into the cramped little kitchen, sitting on the counter as Harry turns on the overhead light that buzzes like it’s dying a slow, painful death. “Do you have macaroni?”

Harry stares at her, depositing her backpack on the kitchen table. “Do you want macaroni?”

“Yes.” Louis replies, like its a perfectly normal thing to follow someone home and then force them to make you mac and cheese.

Harry just stares at her for a long moment. “You make me want a cigarette.”

“You make me want macaroni.” Louis replies, looking up at Harry through her eyelashes. 

“What the fuck are you even.” Harry replies, smiling as she yanks open the pantry doors, grabbing a box of Kraft off the bottom shelf. “What strange planet did you come from? Are you even a human?”

“Signs are pointing to no.” She replies, leaning back against the wall. 

“Martian then?” Harry asks, fishing a pot out of the cupboards. 

“Maybe. I was thinking Jupiter.” Louis says.

“You’re a bit far from home then.” Harry says, sneaking a look at Louis out of the corner of her eye. She’s just so darling, thin pink lips and hair that makes Harry want to dig her fingers into it. 

“Just a few lightyears.” Louis replies, sliding her coat off thin tan arms. Harry wonders how she can keep that golden color even though the winter and thinks that Louis is probably magical and made of sunlight. 

“I think it should only be a few light minutes.” Harry replies. “Jupiter isn’t that far in the grad scheme of things.”

She can hear the pat of Louis’ feet when they hit the ground. She comes up behind Harry, peering into the pot of barely bubbling water. “Aren’t you clever.”

“Yes, I am.” Harry says, moving out of the way so Louis can get an adequate look at the water. “Do you normally do this? Glom on to people and invade their houses and make them be your friends?” She’s still a little in awe of the whole situation, utterly confused by how Louis has been able to worm herself into Harry’s life so seamlessly. 

“Not specifically like this.” She says by way of explanation, reaching for the macaroni box and working her finger underneath the cardboard flap. “But I don’t really accept the word no in any situation.”

“I can see that.” Harry says, sweeping her mess of hair back from her shoulders so it doesn’t get caught in the burner. Louis has this incredible ability to endear people to her, and Harry really doesn’t understand but she thinks she wants to stand in Louis’ light for as long as she can. “What are you doing?”

“Pouring the macaroni in.” Louis says, pulling the cheese packet out and dumping the raw noodles into the lukewarm water.

Harry closes her eyes, suddenly positive that Louis is most definitely an alien creature probably sent to either abduct her or ruin her life. “You’re supposed to wait for the water to boil. It says so literally on the package.”

Louis shrugs, leaning back on counter. She’s all curvy and soft and Harry wants to press her against the dishwasher and touch her. She suddenly hopes that whatever kind of alien Louis is, it’s not the sort that can read minds. 

“But it doesn’t matter. The noodles will still get cooked.”

Harry shakes her head. “You’re so impatient.”

Louis leans back over the pot, stirring the noodles around. “Sue me.”

Harry rolls her eyes, stepping back from the stove. Louis can ruin the macaroni for all she cares. 

She traces the lines of Louis’ back with her eyes, the curve of her waist, the line of her legs. She’s not smitten.

 

xx

 

It becomes a habit, or at least something does. It might be Louis and it might be macaroni but there’s nothing else that explains the way her mouth smiles at Louis in the hall far before she’s given it permission to. Louis is her new habit, and she has a crippling fear that she’ll be just about as good at quitting Louis as she’s been at quitting smoking, which she’s been trying to do for about 8 months. Halfheartedly.

Louis still trails her home with excited chatter and flower print dresses when it’s warm enough. She picks dandelions when they walk up Harry’s cracked walk and they make a beeline for the kitchen and make whatever they can find. 

“I want to take more pictures of you.” Louis says one afternoon as they sit on Harry’s stoop in the afternoon light, Louis’s tapping her flip flops against the concrete. 

Harry shrugs. “Go ahead. I said you could ambush me, remember?”

Louis smiles wide. “I know, but I was being polite.”

She snorts, nudging Louis’ bare knee with her jeans. “That’s a first.”

“I’m always polite!” Louis replies. “I try very hard to be polite. It’s my hobby. My prime directive.”

“I thought your prime directive was being an annoying little shit.” Harry replies, giving a small smile. She’s grown used to Louis presence, can’t completely remember the version of Harry that didn’t include a bouncy sidekick. She knows it’s barely been a month, but Louis is starting to feel like a permanent fixture, less carving a place in Harry’s life but settling in like the place had been there all along, just waiting for her to fill it up.

“Annoying little shit is my secondary directive.” Louis says, digging her camera out of it’s case. “Smile.”

Harry makes a duck face instead, throwing up a peace sign.

Louis glowers. “That’s terrible. You’re terrible. I take back everything I said about you being photogenic.”

“No you don’t.” Harry replies, keeping the peace sign up.

Louis gives a truly amazing eyeroll. “Oh shut up. Go walk through the dandelions.”

“Are you making me get up?” Harry replies, giving her a withering look. “You know how moving hurts my soul.”

“Yes I’m making you get up.” Louis’ eyes go pleading, and she throws her upper half across Harry’s legs. “It’s for art, Harry. For. Art.”

Harry mutters something decidedly murderous under her breath but she pushes Louis off and hauls herself up anyway, walking into the grass, her converse disturbing the army of dandelions residing in her front lawn. “Like this?”

“Look happy.” Louis says, manipulating her face into a rather terrifying approximation of a grin to demonstrate. “Like so.”

Harry mirrors her expression, trying to be as unattractive as possible. Louis snaps a picture, sticking her tongue out petulantly. “Very funny, Harry. I’m cracking up over here.”

“I’m adorable.” Harry replies, sticking her hands in the pockets of her jeans. 

“You most certainly aren’t.” Louis replies, standing up and staring pensively down at the crops of weeds. Harry’s mother had always been the gardener of the family, and when she left the lawn was eaten up by dandelions like they’d been lying in wait all those years, just waiting for an opportunity to take over. Harry doesn’t mind them so much, they’re pretty and yellow like a bunch of tiny suns, but she knows they upset her dad.

Harry kicks at them, sending a few seeds flying up into the air. It’s the in between time when some of them are yellow and some of them have already gone to seed, soft gray heads waving in the breeze. 

“That’s pretty. Kick more.” Louis says, snapping a photo.

Harry does so, hitting them with her foot so all the little seeds fly into the air, getting caught in the wind and swirling around her. They move so slowly, floating around her like fairy dust. 

“You getting any good shots?” Harry asks, turning to Louis.

“Yep.” Louis responds, taking another two photos. “The lighting is beautiful.” She gets a certain look on her face when she takes pictures, half pensive, half amazed. There’s a tiny furrow in her brow, eyes narrowed but so, so bright. 

“Good.” Harry replies, giving Louis her best smile. 

Louis lowers her camera after a long moment, smiling back before reaching down to pick one of the few remaining yellow flowers. “You remember that thing everyone used to do with dandelions? Like, if you held them up to your chin and it showed yellow it meant you liked butter?”

Harry gives her a look. “What?”

Louis nods enthusiastically, completely undeterred by Harry’s attitude, snowy seeds flying up around her as she crosses the grass to stand next to Harry. “Like this, see?” They’re standing chest to chest, so close Harry can feel her breath and smell the soft coconut of her perfume and she could definitely kiss her if she wanted. Louis tips Harry’s head up with her finger, holding up the dandelion so it brushes the underside of Harry’s chin. “It’s yellow! That means you like butter.”

Harry laughs, ducking her chin into her neck and shying away from Louis’ hands, hoping she isn’t blushing. “Of course I like butter. Have you ever met anyone who didn’t?”

Louis stops to think for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

Harry smiles down at her, taking the dandelion from Louis’ fingers and holding it up to her chin. “That’s what I thought.”

“That tickles.” Louis protests, but doesn’t back away. Harry thinks they’re standing a little too close, hopes she isn’t imagining it. 

Harry ignores her, spinning the flower, its petals reflecting gold against her skin. “You like butter too.”

Louis smiles wide. “That I do.”

Harry wonders if the way Louis seems to glow a little more golden when Harry stands near her means that Louis likes her too.

 

xx

 

Harry’s eating lunch out in the courtyard with Zayn and Niall when Louis sits down next to her with absolutely no warning, looking, as usual, pleased with the world at large. “Harry I was finishing up my english final today and I was thinking about you because I do that sometimes, I was just thinking that I don’t have your phone number and that is probably going to become a problem because I can’t follow you home over the summer and I don’t know how else I’m going to see you.”

Harry just looks at her for a long moment, painfully aware of Zayn and Niall staring at them like they’ve both suddenly acquired a disfiguring skin condition. 

“Because I want to take more pictures of you. And stuff.” She finishes, taking a deep breath once she’s pushed all the words out.

Harry wonders if maybe ‘I want to take more pictures of you’ is turning into an excuse rather than the actual reason Louis wants to hang out with her. She isn’t sure how many more shots Louis can take of her being artsy outside before it starts to get old. Evidently, Louis hasn’t grown tired of it yet, and Harry isn’t exactly going to complain. “Oh. Yeah. I sorta just assumed you’d show up in my kitchen without warning. As usual.”

Louis makes a face. “I wouldn’t just show up in your kitchen without warning. I’m polite, remember?”

Harry raises her eyebrows. “No, I don’t remember that bit. I do remember you raiding my cabinets and bossing me around and not being quiet for more than 20 seconds.”

Louis shushes her, handing Harry a pen and holding her hand out. Even her hands are lovely, all small and dainty, chipped red polish on her nails, a delicate chain wrapped around her wrist. “Write it on me.”

“My phone number?” Harry asks, wielding the pen in moderate confusion.

“No, your social security number and your four favorite colors in alphabetical order.” Louis replies, wiggling her fingers.

Harry pouts, scrawling her number in messy pen on Louis’ palm, then writing her name underneath and signing off with an x. “Don’t be mean. I’m a baby deer and you can’t be mean to me.”

“Oh be quiet, bambi.” Louis replies, examining her palm for a moment before standing up, a chipper grin on her face. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

Harry nods, feeling her stomach do silly flip floppy things at the words. “Sure.”

For a moment Harry wonders if Louis is going to lean down and kiss the top of her head, before she remembers that no, she does not live in a romantic comedy, and no, Louis probably doesn’t want to kiss her head or any part of her because Louis is probably straight. Which is okay. She can handle being just friends with Louis.

Instead of turning and walking away like a normal person, Louis waves enthusiastically as she backs up about ten paces, finally turning when she nearly trips over a group of people sitting in their own circle on the quad.

“Oh man, Haz.” Zayn says, his look really far too knowing for her liking. 

“Yeah, Harry.” Niall continues, wiggling up next to her. “I don’t know why you didn’t tell us you were letting Louis take naked pictures of you because I totally want to be involved in that.”

Harry squawks, reaching for something to hit Niall with and ending up tossing a fistful of grass over his head. “They are not naked pictures you absolute freak!”

“Well I still can’t figure why you’d be keeping your rendevouz with her a secret unless you had an enormous stupid crush on her.” Zayn says. “Which you obviously do.”

“I kept them a secret,” She says, putting sarcastic finger quotes around the last word. “Because I didn’t think it was big deal because Louis is my friend and we are just friends hanging out doing things like friends.”

Zayn gives Niall a look. “Friend things.”

Niall nods, leaning in. “Friiiend things. Like kissing. And staring longingly into each other’s eyes.”

Zayn puts on a girlish voice, fluttering his eyelashes at Niall. “I’ll text you later baby.”

“No one said that! Those words were never said!” Harry shrieks, glowering at both of them. “I can have platonic female friendships you fucks.”

“Sure you can.” Zayn says, taking an aloof bite of his sandwich. “But if you don’t have even the smallest crush on Louis Tomlinson I don’t believe that you are a sexual being. Because she is gorgeous.”

Harry scowls, wishing it wasn’t too warm to wear flannel. Hiding inside your clothing becomes less effective when the weather forces you wear tee shirts. “She is pretty. Stop harassing me.”

“I’m not harassing you darling. Just opening your silly little eyes.” Zayn says. Harry thinks she might actually strangle him to death with her bare hands. Partially because he’s being annoying, and partially because he is very right. Louis Tomlinson is very gorgeous and Harry has a very large and very stupid crush on her.

“Just let me crush on straight girls in peace.” Harry says, taking a very annoyed bite of sandwich and glowering when Zayn and Niall high five each other.

“Don’t worry Harry, she’d be mad not to like you. You were made to turn straight girls gay. It’s your destiny.” Says Niall, tearing off a piece of cosmic brownie and pressing it to her lips until she stops pouting and lets him feed her.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special Nialler.” Harry says, shoving him with her shoulder.

“You basically have the best friends ever.” Zayn confirms, stealing a potato chip from her bag.

She does, but if she told them that they’d never let her live it down, so she just makes a face and leans into Niall’s shoulder. “It’s just a phone number. She’s just a friend.”

“For now.” Niall adds.

Harry hopes he’s right.

 

xx

 

“Why don’t we ever go to your house?” Harry asks as they sit on her bed, Louis editing photos on her laptop while Harry sketches the tree outside her window, tiny white flowers swaying in the afternoon sunlight.

“Because it’s loud as shit.” Louis replies, giving her keyboard a few quick taps. “I have four sisters. They are demonic.”

Harry laughs. “Makes sense. You’re fairly demonic, must be genetic.”

“Ha. Ha. That’s hilarious Harry you really should go into comedy.” Louis replies. “They’re sweethearts. But they also never shut up. Your house is quiet and I like it.”

“So does that mean you’re never going to introduce me?” Harry asks, then wonders if that’s normal platonic friend behavior. She’s met Zayn’s sisters a few times, and Niall’s brother in passing, but she thinks a formal meeting might fall a little more under the jurisdiction of girlfriend. Oops.

“I can introduce you, I’m just saying they might devour your in their demonic little sister jaws.” Louis says absentmindedly. 

Harry stops drawing to stare at her. “I am pretty sure your little sisters will not eat me alive. At least 98 percent sure.”

“Don’t be so confident.” Louis replies. “Can I play some music?”

Harry shrugs. “Sure. What kind of music?”

Louis doesn’t answer for a moment, clicking around her computer. “Bon Iver maybe? I’m a Bon Ivery mood. Maybe Greg Laswell. Hold on I have a playlist. Oooh The Head And The Heart. It’s definitely The Head And The Heart time.”

“Are you communicating in code?” Harry asks, giving her a look. “Is this some strange language you’ve created?”

Louis shakes her head. “They’re artists, Harry. I hope you aren’t about to tell me that your only music selections include top forty pop. Because I think our friendship would have to end.”

“There are genres of music other than obscure folksy shit and catchy pop.” Harry replies, her ears picking up what appears to be the first few strains of a soft picked melody. “Oh jesus acoustic indie rock? My sister listens to this stuff. It’s so boring.”

The look on Louis’ face is a strange cross of ‘just ate a lemon’ and ‘stepped in an unidentified wet substance.’ “You are an uncultured swine, Harry.”

“Am not! I just like my music to have some guitar, maybe a beat. I don’t know, doesn’t seem like too much to ask.” Harry replies, shrugging her shoulders. 

Louis shakes her head, and Harry thinks that perhaps this was a bad idea, because she has a feeling Louis isn’t going to stop until she declares acoustic indie rock her favorite genre and knows all the lyrics to whatever mopey beard song is currently playing out of her laptop speakers.

“I’m going to make you a playlist. And I want you to listen to it until you like it.” Louis says, and Harry thinks that if her sisters are anything like her, flesh eating demonic jaws are not out of the question.

“What if I never like it?” Harry replies stubbornly.

Louis smiles brightly. “You will.”

Harry thinks maybe that if Louis likes something that much, she could probably come around.

 

xx

 

Louis presents the CD to her just before they part ways, smiling like she’s presenting Harry with an incredible gift. “Listen to it when you get home.”

Harry nods, smiling when she reads the cover, which is one of Louis’ pictures of her photoshopped so she has a speech bubble coming out her mouth saying 'soft music is not boring my opinion is wrong.' “What a nice cover.”

“Isn’t it?” Louis replies. “I thought it had real artistic flare.”

“It’s a good thing I like you.” Harry replies, throwing the CD on her bed and walking Louis to the door.

“I expect a track by track analysis.” Louis replies as she pushes open the door. “And I do really think you’ll like it. You just have to give it a chance.”

Harry rolls her eyes. “I will, don’t worry. Though I don’t know if I’ll get around to the track by track analysis.”

Louis shrugs. “I can wish.”

Louis is crazy, or at least tiny bit insane, but that doesn’t change the fact that when Harry gets back upstairs she loads the CD on her laptop and listens, sketching soft lips and bright eyes as she does.

 

xx

 

Louis doesn’t bring up the mix within twenty minutes of showing up at Harry’s house and Harry is currently enjoying leaving her in suspense. The truth is she’d actually ended up liking the songs. She likes the lyrics and the way the voices are soft like sung whispers, and it’s less mopey than she’d imagined. Well, it is a bit mopey, but in a cozy way that’s oddly comforting.

Louis is going through Harry’s closet, rummaging through drawers as Harry watches her, because she’d spilled juice down the front of her tee shirt and decided to go searching for a replacement before Harry even had time to offer her a towel. 

“Can I borrow this one?” Louis says, pulling a cream colored tee shirt off the hanger, a world map printed on the front.

“Whatever makes you happy.” Harry replies, starting as Louis pulls her shirt over head without warning, revealing a pale blue bra and a faint tan line across her shoulders. Harry adverts her eyes, because she isn’t a total creep, but she can’t scrub the image of Louis’ waist from her mind, the way it curved ever so slightly inward, growing soft at her hips. Louis’ body is rude. It’s rude and unnecessary and it is probably going to send Harry to an early grave.

“Well I look adorable.” Louis says, turning to look in the mirror nailed to the back of Harry’s door. “I should steal your clothes more often.”

“Yes but then it would be so disappointing when I wore them after you and they didn’t look half as good.” Harry says, and she’s never felt badly about her body but Louis has these curves that fill out the cotton and she makes everything look amazing.

“Oh pish posh, Harry.” Louis replies, crawling up onto Harry’s bed and curling up with one her pillows. “You’re all long and thin and stuff. Like a model.”

Harry rolls her eyes, laying down next to Louis and looking up at the ceiling. “So are you going to ask me if I liked the CD?” She asks, changing the subject before they can have a body positivity pity party and Harry is forced to admit that Louis’ body is perfect and sinful and downright rude.

Louis sits up, staring down at Harry with a smile that says that she’s just been waiting for Harry to bring it up ever since she arrived. “Oh I must have forgotten all about it!”

“You’re full of shit.” Harry says, kicking Louis’ legs with her foot. “And I liked it. You win. Victory to Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis’ eyes light up, and Harry gets that weird feeling again, the one where she thinks Louis is going to kiss her. She wonders if that weird quirk of imagination is going to stop eventually, or if her mind is going to be rude and inconsiderate for the rest of their friendship. “I knew you would like it! I knew it!”

Harry smiles, sliding off the bed and heading for her dresser, picking a jewel case off the top. “I made a CD for you to. Of some of my music.”

Louis makes a face. “Gross. Is it Rap? Death metal? Yodeling?”

“Why on Earth would I listen to yodeling?” Harry asks, pressing the CD into her hands.

“I don’t know. You continually confound me, Styles.” Louis replies, staring down at the cover. Harry had written out the names of the songs and the artists in her best handwriting, drawing an assortment of flora and fauna around them. “It’s so pretty.”

Harry shrugs. “I know.”

Louis smiles up at her, collarbones sneaking out of the collar of Harry’s shirt. “Modest.”

Harry shrugs. She wonders if when she was drawing pretty girls with soft lips and bright eyes, she was really drawing Louis.

 

xx

 

She’s watching her fourth consecutive episode of Teen Wolf when her phone buzzes in the pocket of her sweats

 

Louis 6:13

Babysitting the girls. do you want to come over, I’m about to devour my own hands

 

Harry 6:13

Please don’t eat your own hands. You sure it’s okay?

 

Louis 6:13

Yeah it’s fine. Save me Harry!!!!

 

Harry rolls her eyes, shutting the tv off and tramping over to where her Dad is reading the paper on the couch, looking his normal weekday combination of bored and beleaguered. “I’m going to Louis’, okay?”

He pauses, folding his paper down to look at her. “Louis is the new friend, the one who takes pictures?”

Harry nods. “Yep.”

“Parents will be home?” He asks, giving her a look over the top of his bifocals. 

She nods, trying to look angelic. It’s not like it really matters anyway, anything scandalous would be pretty out of the question, even if Louis’ sisters weren’t part of the equation. “I won’t be back too late.”

He shoots her a thumbs up which she returns, running back out of the room to throw on some shoes before heading out. The evening is starting to get a vaguely ominous chill to it, goosebumps rising on Harry’s bare shoulders as she gets into her car. It’s not too cloudy yet, but she can feel impending rain in the air.

She follows the only relatively helpful directions Louis had texted her, ending up in front of a two story yellow sided house with only one small detour. She pulls out her phone, looking up at the quickly darkening sky. 

 

Harry 6:24

The yellow one, right? Number 813?

 

She doesn’t get a reply before the door bursts open, a small blonde haired child sticking her head out, Louis standing behind her with a smaller one in her arms. She waves when she sees Harry, calling a greeting across the lawn.

Harry waves back, cutting across the grass and hurrying into the house as the first few raindrops catch her arms. “You look like you’re having fun.” Harry says, motioning to the passel of girls that have followed Louis to the front door.

Louis makes a face. “Oh just a blast.” But there’s a warmth in her eyes that suggests she’s more fond than she lets on. “Fizz, Lottie, Daze and Pheebs this is Harry. Harry if you can’t tell Daisy and Phoebe apart just refer to them as monsters 1 and 2, they’ll probably reply.”

“Hey!” The one on the ground says, punching Louis in the leg. “I’m not a monster.”

“Yes you are.” Louis replies easily, looking up as a low roll of thunder sounds. 

The monster Louis is holding makes a whiny noise and buries her face in her chest. “I hate thunder.”

Louis presses a kiss to the top of her head, smiling when she tries to wiggle away from it. “That’s why Harry’s here. She’s going to protect us.”

Harry nods, trying to look as serious as possible. “I’m an expert at protecting people from storms. Promise.”

Fizz, who is evidently too old to be frightened by thunderstorms, takes Harry’s hand. “I’m an expert too. We’ll protect you Phoebe.”

Harry smiles down at her, squeezing her fingers. “Glad to have another expert in our midst.”

She nods, all business, tugging Harry into the living room. “Come downstairs, that’s the safest place to be in a thunderstorm. Because there’ll be a lot of rain and lots of loud noises and so we need to make sure we’re all taken care of.” 

Harry laughs, letting herself be dragged through the dining room and down the stairs, only looking back to make sure Louis is following her. She is, a grin on her face like she’s enjoying herself a little too much. 

“Now we’re safe.” She declares, flopping down on the enormous couch. “We have to make sure we don’t open any windows and make sure we don’t go outside so we don’t get struck by lightning and also we should watch a movie.”

Harry laughs, seeing a startling resemblance between Louis and her younger sister. “She’s like a little Louis clone.” She says as Louis makes sure the twins don’t fall face first down the stairs. “I must admit I’m alarmed, I didn’t think we needed two.”

Louis makes a face, heading for the DVDs as the girls arrange themselves around Harry on the couch. “Of course we need two of me. Maybe even three or four.”

“By my count we seem to have five.” Harry says, tapping each of the girls on the head as she does. 

“Hilarious once again Harry.” Louis replies, giving her a snide look over her shoulder. “Alright are we watching The Incredibles or Princess and the Frog?” 

“Tangled!” Yells the monster that has situated herself next to Harry. “Tangled tangled tangled!”

Lottie squawks in protest. “We’ve watched that movie thirteen times!” She turns Louis for help. “Thirteen times!”

Louis laughs, shaking her head. “No more Tangled. Not for many, many years.”

“Princess and the Frog!” Lottie says, looking like she’d just won the lottery.

Fizz shakes her head vehemently. “Incredibles. S’better. Superheroes are the best.”

“I’m older and I want Princess and the Frog.” Lottie replies, shrugging her shoulders.

“I’m oldest and I say Harry gets to choose.” Louis replies, eyes sparkling as she turns to her. “Choose wisely, darling.”

Fizz squirms up to close to Harry, cupping her hand and whispering Incredibles into her ear in a very covert fashion just as Lottie pokes her thigh expectantly. She suspects Lottie might be the violent one, and is not entirely sure choosing either way would be very beneficial to her continued physical health. “Do you have Aristocats?”

Louis smiles. “I do indeed.”

Harry returns the grin. “Well then we’re definitely watching Aristocats.” She turns, stage whispering to Fizz. “Sorry, I was afraid Lottie would bite me if I picked Incredibles. I was on your side.”

Fizz nods in understanding as Lottie pokes her once again in the leg.

“Lottie don’t poke the guests.” Is Louis’ only admonishment and Harry briefly wonders if she’s secretly enjoying watching her sisters give Harry a hard time. Louis pushes Artistocats in the DVD player and shuts off the lights, coming to stand in front of the couch as the opening plays, hands on her hips and a pout on her face. “So am I not allowed to sit next Harry then?”

Fizz shakes her head. “Harry and I are experts.”

“If you sit between us then I can’t poke her if she gets out of line.” Lottie replies, shrugging like this is completely out of her jurisdiction.

Louis rolls her eyes, settling down between Lottie and one of the monsters. “I don’t think Harry is going to get out of line, but I appreciate the concern.”

“No problem.” Lottie says, just as the movie starts up, eliciting a shushing from Fizz.

Harry can hear the patter of rain outside and the slow roll of thunder but it’s warm in the basement and there’s something comforting about being with other people in the darkness. She tries not to sneak glances at Louis but she can’t help it, can’t stop watching the light play across her face, the way her eyelashes send shadows down her cheeks.

Louis catches her watching a few times, smiling like it’s what she expected. Harry doesn’t know what to make of that, doesn’t know how to put the tiles together to get the words she wants. 

Near the end of the movie, when both of twins have nearly drifted off, Louis reaches one hand across the back of the couch, wiggling her fingers for Harry to take. She hesitates for a moment before reaching back, twining their fingers together. She’s too tired to figure out what that means, too caught up in the soft quiet of the room and the slight chill that clings to the tips of Louis’ fingers.

They’re still holding hands when the movie ends, and Louis asks Lottie to get the little ones ready for bed, tells her she’ll be up later. She does, yawning as she and Fizz heard them upstairs, significantly more subdued than before.

“So we’re finally alone.” Louis says, waggling her eyebrows in a truly ridiculous manner.

Harry tries not to betray how the thought makes her chest tight, thinks she does fairly well. “Worst part of the night.”

Louis shakes her head, sleepy eyes nearly closed. “You don’t mean that.” Harry decided she likes Louis when she’s tired, when she runs out of manic energy and her edges go fuzzy. 

“No. Of course not.” Harry replies, because there’s something in the air that tells her to be truthful, like she has nothing left to lose, like the summer storm will absorb all her secrets. They’re full of jokes and wit but she cares about Louis in a way she hadn’t quite expected and it’s makes her heart swell, a pit of warmth in her chest.

“I’m tired.” Louis says, pulling a blanket down from the top of the couch and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Can you sleep over?”

Harry nods, moving so her back is resting against the arm, propping her feet up on the couch. What her dad doesn’t know probably won’t kill him. “Yep. But I don’t have my pjs. Or my toothbrush.”

Louis sits up without a reply, pushing Harry’s legs to the side so she can crawl up next to them. She pauses, hanging over Harry like she’d only thought to ask permission halfway through. “Can I sleep on you?”

Harry nods, focusing on breathing correctly, on not kissing Louis, on keeping her heart from jumping out of her ribcage. “Make yourself at home.”

Louis smiles, settling down so her head is resting by Harry’s shoulder, spooning against her side. “Thankyou.”

“I’m bigger, shouldn’t I be the big spoon?” Harry asks, turning onto her side so they’re nose to nose in the darkness. 

“No.” She replies, throwing an arm over Harry’s waist and tugging her just a little bit closer. Harry lets herself be pulled, tucking her chin to the top of Louis’ head.

Harry smiles, closing her eyes and breathing Louis in, listening to the rain and the thunder and wondering if there’s any better way to fall asleep.

By the time she finally drifts off, she still hasn’t thought of any.

 

xx

 

Louis 2:34

Listened to the CD, your music taste is passable. Some of these songs are okay. Like they don’t actively make me want to throw up.

 

Harry 2:38

Told you so.

 

Louis 2:39

Hate you.

 

Harry 3:39

xoxo

 

xx

 

They’re sitting in the park, Louis instragramming what Harry is fairly sure is her fourth picture of the clouds. Harry has her sketchpad out, drawing a dandelion that’s growing by their feet, her hair falling in her face even though she tied it back in a bird’s nest of a bun.

“Why don’t you ever draw me?” Louis asks, laying her upper half over Harry’s shoulders to get a good look at the dandelion sketch.

Harry pauses what she’s doing before Louis’ incessant movement can mess her up. “Do you want me to draw you?”

Louis looks pensive for a moment, before nodding. “Most definitely. I mean if you want to, I don’t want to ask if you don’t want to. Are you good at drawing people?”

Harry gives her a quiet little smile, nodding ever so slightly. “I’m alright at drawing people. I’d love to draw you, you have a great profile.”

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” She asks, setting herself so she’s looking out across the park, setting her hands in her lap in some attempt to be proper. There’s the smallest bit of a warm wind and it plays with the longer strands of Louis’ hair, gets caught in the cotton of her blouse.

“Shh, I’m drawing.” Harry says, adjusting so she’s facing Louis, tapping her eraser to her lips. The truth is she barely draws anyone. It took her years to draw Zayn and Niall and she still prefers to sketch from pictures rather than real life. Portraits are so intimate, it feels like she’s crawling into whoever she’s drawing, fleshing out their aura and drawing how they make her feel.

Louis is a challenge, her face is classic and dainty but there’s a light in her eyes that Harry wants to catch but isn’t sure she knows how. She traces out the template circles, filling the line of Louis’ nose, the quirk of her mouth, smiling as Louis fidgets.

“You can move you know, just not too much.” Harry says, doing her eye in a long swoop. “Its not an old photograph. You won’t blur.”

Louis laughs, running a hand through her hair. “I just don’t want to mess up the picture.”

Harry shakes her head. “You won’t. I know your face pretty well at this point.”

Louis ducks her head, looking quietly pleased. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

Harry just smiles, tracing the outline of her lips. Sometimes she feels like she understands Louis more than she understands herself. She has a sneaking feeling that Louis feels the same way about her.

The clarity is a comfort.

 

 

xx

 

Harry has ended up at Niall’s house on a thursday; her, Zayn, and a few kids from class in his pool, the late afternoon sun beating down on them. Niall’s already instigated about 4 splash fights and they’ve only been there for an hour, leaving her soaked even though she wasn’t planning on getting her hair wet.

Zayn surfaces next to her, shaking out his hair like a dog, the product long washed out of it. “Having a blast, Hare Bear?”

She raises her eyebrows. “I’m taking a breather, splash fights are intense. Also, Hare Bear?”

He shrugs, pushing his hair back a la Draco Malfoy in the first Harry Potter movie. “It felt right. Don’t make me explain myself.” He heaves himself onto the deck, flicking water at her. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

“She’s at her sister’s dance recital.” Harry replies, though truthfully she’s somewhat nervous to bring Louis into her social circle. Or rather, social triangle, as it mainly includes Niall and Zayn. She told herself for a while it was because she didn’t want Zayn and Niall to scare her off, but it was more because at the beginning she was pretty sure Louis wasn’t going to stay.

“Aww what a shame. Also are you aware that you just fell into my trap?” Zayn says, looking so proud of himself that Harry smacks him in the arm even though she has no clue what the trap is.

“What trap?” She asks, crawling up to sit next to him, water streaming off her barely tanned skin. 

“The trap where I asked about your girlfriend and you talked about Louis.” Zayn replies smugly.

“Oh fuck, did I do that?” Harry asks, burying her face in her hands. She’s dying, she’s literally going to die of embarrassment and unfulfilled sexual fantasies and it’s going to be one hundred percent Louis’ fault.

“Yes you did!” Zayn singsongs, slinging his arm around her shoulders and nuzzling his head into her shoulder. “She makes you happy.”

Harry sighs. “Yeah I know.” She doesn’t even know if happy is the right word at this point. Louis makes her feelings blur together and keeps her head clear and makes her smile so much she thinks her face is going to stick that way.

Zayn shakes his head, and she can smell cigarettes and mint gum on his breath and chlorine in his skin. “I mean it, you seem a lot happier. More happy than I’ve seen you since...” He trails off for a moment, but Harry knows what he’s talking about. Since her parents started screaming at each other, since her mom walked out and didn’t come back. “I don’t know if that’s her or not but whatever it is, I’m happy.” He smiles up at her, warm brown eyes and a grin to match. “Proud of you.”

Harry wants to roll her eyes but somehow his words are too touching to trivialize, so she just smiles and leans against him. “A lot of it is Summer I think. I got into this routine for a while where I just felt like shit all the time.” She pauses, watching Niall try to undo Jesy’s bikini top. “But some of it’s her.”

He smiles, kicking his feet in the water. “Yeah I know.”

She can feel it, though she isn’t quite sure when exactly it happened or what the catalyst was, the way she feels lighter inside, how her blood feels clear and she can breath freely again. 

Some of it’s summer. Some of it’s Louis.

 

xx

 

Louis 11:34

The camera I ordered just came in!!

 

Louis 11:34

I am literally crying I need to show it to you oh my god

 

Louis 11:35 

Harry it is nearly noon wake up put on your clothes I am coming to your house

 

Harry 11:35 

I’m not wearing pants don’t you dare

 

Louis 11:35 

Glad I got your attention I’m coming to your house

 

Harry 11:36

There is nothing I can do to talk you out of this is there

 

Louis 11:36 

Nothing

 

Harry 11:36

fine

 

Harry slides out of bed, her feet hitting the floor with what she can describe only as a disappointed thump. Nothing should happen before noon, not even Louis Tomlinson related things. 

She rummages around until she finds a pair of shorts, pulling them up her legs and zombie walking to her mirror. Really, the damage could be worse. She’d showered after she’d gotten home from Niall’s so her hair is still pretty clean, though facially she could probably be compared to the undead and it wouldn’t be unfair.

She trudges to the bathroom, splashing water on her face until she looks somewhat alive, heading back into her room to pick up the clothes strewn across her carpet. She can hear the low grumble of a lawnmower and the higher calls of birds, the breeze making her room smell like sunlight. She wonders if ‘I’m coming to your house’ means immediately, or in an hour, after Harry has time to surf the web and properly return to the land of the living. Knowing Louis, it’s probably the former.

There’s an insistent rapping at her door and she heads out to get it, finding Louis standing on her porch with a box in her hand. 

“It’s actually the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She says, heading for Harry’s bedroom and making herself at home on the unmade bed. “I can’t decide what to take a picture of first.” She opens the cardboard box in her lap, pulling out a boxy polaroid camera, running her fingers across the top. 

“That’s so cool, I used to have a film camera when I was little. I don’t know what happened to it.” Harry reaches out, Louis depositing the camera into her hands like it’s a baby. “I might have broken mine. I was clumsy. Things were often dropped.”

Louis laughs, leaning back into Harry’s pillows as she examines the camera. “But you’re just epitome of grace now, aren’t you?”

Harry grimaces, looking through the viewfinder at Louis, who smiles. “You can take a picture of me if you want.”

“You sure?” Harry asks, her finger hovering over the button. “It’s your camera, I thought you’d want to take the first shot.”

Louis shakes her head, stretching her arms high above her like a cat, a small smile on her face. “Not at all.”

Harry nods, sitting up and squinting as she points the viewfinder at Louis. “Smile.”

Louis does, a grin spreading across her face, her hair splayed out on Harry’s pillow, baggy tee shirt hanging low on her collar bones. Harry keeps the camera up for a long moment after she takes the picture just so she can look at her, her ribcage refusing to expand for her lungs. 

Louis sits up, retrieving the picture and waving it in the still morning air, humming under her breath.

“Are you humming Short Skirt Long Jacket?” Harry asks just as the picture is starting to develop. “You are! I knew you liked it oh my god you little shit.”

Louis stops, looking up with innocent blue eyes. “I wasn’t humming anything.”

Harry raises her eyebrows. “Yes you were! Because you listened to my playlist and you liked it.”

Louis appears to be trying her best not to look guilty, which only makes her eyes go all glittery and mischievous. “I listened to it one or two times, I texted you about it remember?”

“One or two?”

“Ten or twenty.” Louis concedes, and Harry relishes in the fact that she’s actually blushing, a soft pink on the apples of her cheeks. “Stop looking at me like that! You liked mine too!”

“I did. Isn’t it irritating being friends with a smug bastard?” Harry asks, unable to keep from smiling even as she teases her. 

“Yes.” Louis answers, peering at the mostly developed photo. “Oh it’s perfect. Look at it.”

She holds it out, the front shimmery and dark but slowly coloring up. It looks just like real life, the camera catching the sunlight perfectly, something about the photograph making everything warm and incorporeal. “You look lovely.”

Louis takes her camera back, cradling it to her stomach. “You always look lovely. That’s why I like taking pictures of you.”

Harry smiles, feeling a flush on her cheeks. Sometimes when Louis says things like that Harry wonders if maybe Louis wants her as more than a friend, sweet words making it so easy for her mind to trick her into hoping. 

Louis slides off her bed, setting the print on her dresser and picking up her laptop. “I want to play this album I found for you.”

Harry leans back onto her elbows, watching as Louis crouches on the floor with the computer, patiently waiting for it to turn on. “Oh yeah? Mopey things?”

Louis nods, her eyes focused on the screen. “Very mopey. It’s about a hospice patient and the doctor who loves her, it’s actually a work of art. And it’s really cool because the words start out blurred and indecipherable but as it grows and becomes lighter the words become easier to understand.”

“Cheery.” Harry says, rolling into a patch of sunlight. “But cool. You mopey types really know how to be artistic.”

Louis laughs, crawling up onto the bed and sitting next to Harry. “Us mopey types have to stick together.” She says, rearranging Harry’s body so Harry’s head is in her lap, carding her fingers through messy curls. 

Harry smiles, closing her eyes and letting Louis tug the knots out of her hair, letting out a soft happy noise. 

“Do you remember the flower crown I made you the first time I met you?”

Harry nods, still keeping her eyes closed as she picks up the first few strains of the music, dark but pretty. “Yeah. I think its still on my desk. It’s a bit dried out now. Wilted.”

Louis brushes her fingers across Harry’s forehead, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “I was just thinking about it. Did you know that you get this look on your face when you draw? Kind of like your eyes see the world differently when you’re sketching it?”

“I didn’t know that.” Harry mumbles, Louis’ fingers turning her pliant under their movements.

“I’m going to take your picture now.” Louis says, removing her hands and rustling in the sheets. Harry opens her eyes, looking up at Louis with her camera held to her face, her lips parted the smallest bit.

Harry smiles as the picture takes, Louis removing the frame and waving it around before leaning to set it on the floor. “Touch my hair more.” Harry says, reaching blindly for Louis’ hands.

Louis takes her wrists instead, leaning down and pressing their noses together. Harry isn’t sure if she notices the way her breath catches in throat, how all the blood in her body seems to rush a little faster.

“Oh no.” Louis says softly, the ghost of a smile curling across her face. “Oh no, Harry.”

Harry squints up at her, feeling strange and embarrassed and a little terrified but mostly like she never wants Louis to stop touching her. “What?”

Louis shakes her head, pausing for a long moment before leaning down and pressing her lips quickly against Harry’s, so fast Harry isn’t entirely sure that it’s happened.

“Lou?” Harry asks, sitting up slowly, her legs tucked up beneath her, hands sinking into the mattress. 

Louis shrugs, looking out the window, her cheeks pink. “Sorry.”

Harry reaches out to lay a hand on Louis’s cheek, running her thumb across the place her jaw meets her neck. “Don’t be like that. Look at me.”

Louis does, soft nervous eyes and parted lips. 

Harry pulls her in, pressing their mouths together, keeping her eyes open just long enough to see Louis’ fall closed. Louis kisses timidly at first, her hand seeking Harry’s on the bed, twining their fingers together, and Harry lets her lead. 

She feels Louis pull at the front of her shirt, tugging them backwards, Harry’s body enveloping Louis’, their legs tangled together between the sheets. Harry holds tight to Louis’ hand, their fingers clasped together, holding herself up with the other arm. 

It’s better than she imagined, Louis warm beneath her, her hands coming up to tangle in Harry’s hair. Louis is excitable and manic but she kisses carefully, her tongue pressing into Harry’s mouth, her hands holding tight. 

Louis pulls back for a moment, a smile on her face like sunlight itself as she stares up at Harry. “You always look like a picture.” She whispers. 

Harry just kisses her quickly on the mouth, wanting to memorize the taste of her lips, to measure out the softness of her body in minutes and seconds. She wants to dust Louis for fingerprints with her lips and find only hers.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing.” She admits when Harry stays quiet. “I’m only out to Perrie and Liam like, no one knows.”

Harry nudges her nose against Louis’. “That’s okay. You’re fine.”

Louis nods, taking a shaky breath in and then out again. “I know. I know it’s fine. Kiss me more please.”

“Tell me if it’s too much.” Harry says, running her hand up Louis’ side, making her shiver even though it’s warm. 

She nods, letting her eye flutter closed. “It’s not too much.”

Harry smiles, closing the gap between them, snaking her hand up beneath Louis’ shirt and fiddling with the clasp of her bra, undoing it with steady hands. She makes a soft sound into Harry’s mouth but doesn’t say a word, just grips her hand tighter, fingers pulling at her hair ever so slightly.

Harry runs her hand down Louis’ ribcage, learning just how hard she needs to press to make her breathing go funny, what makes her fingers hold just a little tighter. Harry can’t remember the last time she was this gentle with anyone, the last time she wanted to be. It’s just that Louis is precious and breakable, even though she doesn’t know it, and Harry can’t hurt her, has to make sure she wants this. 

Louis arches against her fingertips, letting Harry kiss down her jawline, the soft skin of her neck, letting her suck marks against her collarbones. Harry sits up, straddling Louis’ thighs, pulling her shirt over her head. 

Louis smiles up at her, reaching to hold Harry’s hips. “Get my camera.”

Harry gives her a bemused look, before grabbing it off the dresser. “Yeah?”

She nods, sitting up and taking it from Harry’s hands, shuffling around so they’re sitting with their knees touching. “This isn’t weird, is it?” She asks, pulling her shirt off and letting it fall on the floor, shedding her bra in the process.

Harry shakes her head, trying not to stare. She’s still having trouble with the fact that she can do this now, that she’s actually allowed to touch her. “Not weird.”

Louis smiles, raising the camera to her face and taking a picture of Harry. “Perfect.”

“Come on.” She says, taking Harry’s hand as soon as she’s set the picture aside, pulling her to the mirror mounted over her dresser.

She threads her arms around Harry’s waist, resting her chin on Harry’s shoulder and pressing the camera into her hands. “Take a picture of us.”

Harry does, holding the camera down by her waist and taking the shot of them, smiling softly in the morning sunlight, wrapped around each other like vines.

 

xx

 

Harry keeps the picture of Louis and the picture of them in her dresser, taking them out on the days she still feels sad. Those days come less often now.

xx

 

The sand burns Harry’s feet as she walks across it, the sun pinching her skin tight across her shoulders. Niall is up ahead, bouncing a volleyball off his head, losing it in the sand, and then racing after it. Zayn, Perrie and Liam aren’t far behind him, toting a picnic basket and a few coolers. 

Louis is holding her hand.

“Hurry up lovebugs!” Zayn calls back to them. “You’re falling behind!”

“The beach isn’t going anywhere!” Louis replies, kicking up sand with her flipflops.

“You don’t know that!” Perrie yells, a smile on her face even as she says it.

“Always in such a hurry.” Louis says disparagingly, pursing her lips in distaste.

Harry laughs, leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek. “So judgemental. They can’t help it, they’re just jealous we’re cuter than they’ll ever be.”

Louis nods, setting her bag down to loop her arms around Harry’s neck, an enormous smile on her face. “That must be it.”

Harry brushes their noses together, breathing the sweet smell of coconut and sunscreen and sun that clings to Louis’ skin in the summer. “Must be.”

Louis goes up on her tiptoes to kiss her, smiling against her mouth when Niall catcalls them from the other end of the beach. “Your friends are dumb.”

Harry laughs, reaching to grab her hand and lead her further down the beach. “They’re your friends now too.”

Louis makes a solid attempt to look put out, but she ends up smiling instead. “They’re the worst.”

Harry nods in agreement. “That they are.” 

When she turns her eyes to the horizon, the blue water meeting the blue sky, she can see for miles.


	2. Pictures of You - Reboot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis decides that she likes taking pictures of Harry. Niall and Zayn are pretty sure it's a thing. Harry would like to assure them that it's not, but she might be lying.
> 
> (dandelions, old sadness, and happy endings)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ! So in an effort to clean up some of my old 1d writing, I have a brand new rebooted version of Pictures of You ready for the presses !! Yay !!! I took out some scenes, added some background, and solidified some themes that I thought were a little wandering the first time. Hope it works for ya!

“Just drop it,” Harry says, slamming her locker shut and hoisting her backpack higher on her shoulders. The slap of her shoes on the linoleum is a comforting rhythm underneath the babble of other students making their way out of the building.

“Harry, seriously?” It’s Niall, doggedly tailing her down the hallway. “You are not bailing on me again, you need to get out of that house.”

“No can do, Ni,” Harry replies, patting the pockets of her enormous flannel and too tight jeans for her cigarette case. It’s old: the delicately carved silver oxidized beyond polishing, something Zayn snagged for her from the thrift shop his mom owns. Zayn is the best at gifts, at what’s been deemed ‘handling Harry.’

“I know you don’t have homework,” Niall pesters, his voice pitching up as he has to hurry to catch up with her long strides. “It’s Friday, so you don’t work until 6, and we have all the same classes”

“I’m tired, Niall,” Harry replies, giving him a halfhearted smile. She can feel the day in her bones, making her head cloudy and her fingers just the smallest bit shaky. She wants to crawl under her covers so that for just a little while everything will be quiet.

“Give me a real one and I’ll stop bothering you,” Niall says, cutting her off before she reaches the door. His spiky hair has deflated since they talked at the beginning of the day, but he’s pestering her so Harry doesn’t tell him.

“A real what?” Harry replies deadpan, clicking her cigarette case open and closed. She has a fairly good idea what Niall is asking about but he’s going to have to try harder if he wants her to humor him.

“A smile, you fuck,” Niall replies, crossing his arms over his scrawny chest, unmoved by her own stubbornness. To be fair, he’s dealt with it for a while. “I know you still know how.”

Harry isn’t sure she does. Smiling isn’t the hard part, the hard part is that even if she does she doesn’t think it’ll reach her eyes, and that even if it does, it doesn’t mean she’s still that girl. It was only last year, but the distance feels like forever.

She configures her face into a caricature of what it used to be, wide eyes and wide grin. She drops the expression, raising her eyebrows at Niall. “How was that?”

He shakes his head like he’s tired too, but lets her by. “Next week, yeah?”

She nods, giving him the half quirk of her lips that’s replaced her old grins. “Next week, promise.” She tells him even though she doesn’t really believe it, because she knows they’re all tired of picking up the pieces, Zayn and Niall both. She needs to get her shit together, she needs to compartmentalize better and rip all the dead parts out. Deadhead, her mom used to say. You have to cut the dead flowers off so they don’t sap strength from the plant, so new flowers can grow.

Harry isn’t sure she can snip the dead parts off when they’ve grown into her skin and the guilt makes her blood run specked and thick like rot. She never really told Niall or Zayn how bad it was. She thinks they know.

When she gets home, she doesn’t stay there. Niall is right, she does need to get out of the house, because it hangs heavy with bad memories and it smells like sickening loss if she breathes in too deep. She scans the mess of pencils and sketchpads on her desk, picking up one with thick creamy parchment paper she spent too much money on. She’s trying to save it for special occasions, but when she picks it up it feels right in her hands.

She walks to the forest instead of taking her rusty old bike, her converse slipping around on her feet because they’re so worn the rubber support has started to crack. It’s nearly a mile and a half but she finds she doesn’t mind so much, letting the cloudy afternoon drip into her fingers.

She smokes a cigarette, then a second because she’s feeling indulgent. Niall has been pestering her to quit nearly since she started, but she likes having something to hold in her hands. She wraps her fingers around the dull corners of her paper plane necklace instead of having a third, tugging so she can feel the chain press into the back of her neck.

She veers off the main road and onto the path that leads into the forest preserve, the gravel crunching under her feet as she treads the ribbon where the road meets the underbrush. She can hear birds in the trees above her, soft trilling and high calls that feel like having benevolent company.

She follows one of the paths, the ones that aren’t quite grass but aren’t quite dirt either. It’s truly lovely, the misty air settling on her shoulders. The breeze carries the hint of a chill but its pleasant after the bruising winter they had, so she pushes up the sleeves of her flannel, taking a deep breath of air that cleans out her smoky lungs.

The clouds rest in the upper boughs of the trees, making everything green and gray in the muted springtime. Harry reaches into her bag, pulling out her old fleece blanket and laying it on a relatively dry log, settling down with her sketchpad.

Drawing comes easy, even when other things don’t. She’d grown up drawing, doodles of tiny people with pretty hair and kittens with fluffy tails. Now she draws soft limbed fairies and trees with birdhouses hidden in the limbs. Sometimes she draws things that don’t have names yet.

When everything was falling apart she’d drawn instead of letting her hands shake, refining and redrawing and scrawling over pages of erased words and lines. It was prolific, even if it was more for survival than anything else.

Don’t listen, just draw. Don’t think, just draw.

She isn’t sure how long she’s been sketching, drawing up the twisty maple tree in front of her, inventing elaborate mushrooms to encircle the base, arranging them in a circle. When her dad used to take her to the forest, back before things fell out, he used to point them out to her; fairy rings he’d called them.

It’s only the flash of a camera that jars her hand, sending a line down the paper and making her look up. Standing in the brush in front of her is a girl, blue eyes wide and surprised, a heavy looking camera held in her hands.

They stare at each other for a moment and Harry feels like a fawn caught in the forest, awkward and stumbling and frozen in place.

The other girl smiles guiltily, looking mischievous even as she does. “Sorry.”

Harry stares up at her. “Hi?”

“You looked peaceful, I hope you don’t mind?” Her voice is strange, high but rough somehow, like gravel and honey. Harry wants to hear her say more words. “This is actually so creepy, wow. I can delete it if you want? I don’t normally do stuff like this, I was just walking around and you looked like a picture I wanted to take?”

Harry nods slowly, pulling her sketchpad up to her chest and resting her chin on the top of it. “It’s okay.”

She can’t quite gauge the situation, feels like she’s been caught up in an unexpected whirlwind without any real idea how to get out. The other girl is pretty, short brown hair tied back with a bandana and wearing big evergreen sweater with sleeves that fall over her hands. Harry thinks she might recognize her from somewhere but can’t quite place her. She thinks she should remember a face like that.

“I normally ask first,” The girl supplies, fiddling with her camera. “But I didn’t want to disturb you? Sorry, I don’t even know you, I’m Louis. Tomlinson.”

Harry recognizes it, one of the names that gets thrown around when Niall and Zayn talk about pretty girls. “You go to my school.”

Her face lights up. “Do I? I don’t think I’ve seen you around. What’s your name?” She speaks in excited bursts and she’s a lot for Harry to handle, so much energy and brightness all caught up in her small body.

“Harry.”

“That’s so cool.” She walks down the path, coming down to sit next to Harry on her blanket. Harry would have asked permission, but she’s known Louis for about a minute and she’s already unsurprised that she hadn’t. “Because like, it’s a boy’s name but it fits you.” She smiles wide. “Harry. I like it.”

Harry shrugs, offering her a tiny little smile. “Your name is nice too.”

She smiles wide. “Thanks.” She always seems to be doing something with her hands, twirling her fingers around or playing with the strap of her camera. As Harry watches, she reaches for the long-stemmed yellow flowers growing up behind them, picking a few and laying them in her lap. “Do you mind if I take more pictures of you?”

“I don’t mind.” Harry replies, chewing mindlessly on the end of her pencil. Louis doesn’t make her nervous per-se, something closer to alert. Louis makes her feel like she needs to pay attention, like she’s on the verge of something important and if Harry blinks she’ll miss it. “Why do you want to take them?”

“Because you’re pretty!” Louis says, braiding the stems together in a messy chain. “I like pictures. I have a blog and everything.”

Harry laughs quietly. “Real professional photographer then?”

Louis looks over at her, configuring her face into a scowl. “I’m working on it! I just like pictures a lot. Maybe someday.”

“That’s really nice,” Harry says, because Louis is excitable and pretty and she hugs her camera to her stomach like she loves it.

“Yeah,” Louis affirms, holding the flower chain carefully up to Harry’s head and squinting very seriously.

“Are you making me a flower crown?” Harry asks, staring down at Louis’ hands as she deftly ties off the ends.

“I thought you could use a little more whimsy,” Louis says, placing it carefully on Harry’s head. She has gentle hands and they’re soft when they brush against Harry’s cheeks. She smells like coconut and lime and the way summer afternoons feel.

“Can’t have too much whimsy,” Harry concedes, watching as Louis hops back up, standing on the path with her camera in hand. She doesn’t even like flower crows, she thinks they’re a bit tacky, but Louis looked so excited when she gave it to her that she found herself reluctantly endeared. “Do you want me to keep drawing?”

Louis shrugs, bouncing a little as she does. “Whatever you want.”

Harry nods slowly, unable to keep a bemused smile off her face. “I’ll just keep drawing.”

“Okay.” Louis smiles wide, raising her camera and taking another shot. Harry can keep track of every time she takes a picture because the flash washes out the forest like lightning. It’s a little distracting, but the real distraction is Louis. There’s an energy about her that Harry likes, that’s infectious and lovely and makes it a little hard to concentrate. If the camera flash is the lightning then Louis is definitely the storm.

Harry looks up during a particularly long break between flashes to find Louis looking down at her, camera held in her hands, a peculiar look on her face. Harry can feel a hopeful warmth growing in her chest, but she isn’t going to think those thoughts, not about someone she’s just met, not about someone who will probably never feel that way. Harry gives her a tiny wave that seems to remind her what’s she doing.

Louis laughs, ducking her head. “Sorry, you just really look like a picture. I can’t get over it.”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t mind.” She came to the forest to get away but Louis is sweet and unapologetic and Harry can’t find any reason to leave. “Did you get a lot of good shots?”

“Yes, they’re all great,” Louis says, blue eyes practically aglow, peering to try and see what Harry is drawing. “Can I see what you’re drawing?”

“I guess,” Harry says, lowering the sketch pad so Louis can see the tree with all its winding branches and mushrooms, exotic birds roosting near the top.

“It’s magical,” Louis breathes, almost reaching out to touch the paper before she stops herself. She reaches for her camera instead. “Can I?”

“Sure,” Harry says, holding it so she can get a good shot.

Louis smiles, standing up a little straighter. “Thanks. You know, for all the pictures.”

“No problem,” Harry says, checking her watch and flipping her sketchpad shut, feeling awkward about everything for the first time. “It was nice to meet you.”

“I’ll see you again, right?” Louis asks, looking up at Harry. She’s shorter than Harry first thought, all soft curves and a petulant set to her mouth like she isn’t used to being ignored.

“Sure. At school maybe,” Harry replies, even though it’s just as much of a fib as when she tells Niall that she’ll be better next week, because there’s magic here but she’s pretty sure it’ll fade in the linoleum brightness of the school hallways. Her old friends can barely put up with her anymore, much less someone like Louis.

“I want to take more pictures of you,” Louis says, and Harry imagines that she can see a blush color her cheeks.

“Just sneak up on me again,” Harry says, shaking out the blanket and shoving it back into her bag. “You can take pictures of me whenever you want.”

“Promise?” Louis says like this isn’t the end of it, walking with her down the path that leads back to the main road.

Harry looks over at her. “Yes, I promise.”

Louis smiles, skipping towards the road and waiting for Harry to catch up. “Good!”

Harry rolls her eyes, even though she’s fairly sure that the shots on Louis’ camera will be the last the other girl sees of her.

xx

She doesn’t take the flower crown off until she gets home, placing it on her desk among her papers because she can’t bear to get rid of it. It’s delicate and pretty and it reminds her of Louis.

She can’t decide whether the impermanence of flowers makes her sad or not.

xx

It turns out that even though she doesn’t happen across Louis at school, Louis hunts her down. She appears next to Harry when she’s trying to get her finicky lock open, bounding up to her with all her earlier enthusiasm.

“Hey Harry, sorry to bother you, but I wanted to tell you I put the pictures up. They look really nice. Like really nice.” She smiles, leaning up against the locker next to Harry’s. “You’re so photogenic.”

Harry finally tugs the lock undone, opening the door so Louis’ face is blocked, like maybe she’ll be able to organize her thoughts it she doesn’t have to look at her. Louis takes the opportunity to tug the door back, leaning up close to Harry and holding out a piece of paper. “Here, I wrote my url on here. You can look at them if you want.” Her eyes fall on the sketches Harry has stuck on the inside of her locker. “Oh those are so pretty.”

“Has anyone... Do people tell you that you talk a lot?” Harry asks slowly, taking a small step backwards so Louis isn’t quite so much in her space.

“All the time. I’m pretty much constant stream. No filter to speak of,” she replies, smiling broadly. She seems a little proud of it, which is good, because Harry thinks she might have meant it as a compliment. “Though I can be quiet. If asked.”

“I kinda doubt that,” Harry replies, pulling at her open locker door until Louis takes the hint and steps back.

Louis grabs one of Harry’s hands before she can stick them into her pockets, prying it open with delicate fingers and placing the slip of paper on her palm, curling it back into a fist when she’s done. “I can. Sometimes. When I decide I want to.”

Harry rolls her eyes. “Oh I’m sure.”

“I can!” Louis protests, following Harry to the doors.

“You’re something else, Louis,” Harry says, giving her a small smile.

Louis smiles wide, her eyes goes all crinkly at the edges. “You have to tell me what you think about the pictures.”

“I will,” Harry replies, and they’re already in front of her next class but she isn’t quite ready to leave yet. Louis is magnetic and Harry feels abruptly stuck in her pull.

“You better not just be saying that to make me happy,” Louis says, giving her a sweet little grin, the sort that makes Harry want to kiss her lips and touch her palms.

“I am saying it to make you happy.” Harry replies. “But I’ll do it, I promise.”

Louis nods, apparently appeased. Harry had been so sure that Louis would never speak to her again, that they’d drift past each other in the halls and eventually stop giving each other awkward waves until they were complete strangers again. She doesn’t know why Louis has decided to tug Harry into her life but she likes it, because it’s easier to forget about the rot in the presence of someone steeped in so much life.

xx

Harry does check, booting up old laptop, unrolling the scrap of paper she’d kept in her pocket all the way home and decoding Louis’ slanted handwriting. Harry is unsurprised when the page loads up and she finds a meticulously curated aesthetic blog. The funny thing about Louis is that she is simultaneously confounding and hilariously predictable. Harry suspects she is the sort of girl who plans her outfits the night before and owns at least ten colors of nail polish, but Harry thinks she might find it cute.

Harry scrolls down and is abruptly staring at herself in her enormous black watch flannel, the daisy chain resting on her head like something befitting a queen. She thinks she understands what Louis meant about looking like a picture she wanted to take.

There’s something about how the pale light catches her hair and the way the greenery seems to curl around her that makes her chest feel all weird. It’s beautiful.

Louis took her and made her beautiful.

xx

“Harry! Hey! Hi!” Harry recognizes the voice behind her as she walks home from her last class of the day. She shoves her hands deep in the pockets of her surplus jacket and turns around to find Louis wearing a bright blue peacoat, tight red jeans and a smile that’s dangerous.

“Yeah, hey,” Harry says, shaking her mess of brown curls out of her face. “I looked at the pictures, they were really nice.”

Nice is a understatement. She’s looked through all 340 pages of Louis’ blog in the last week, pouring over her pictures and trying to figure out what makes her tick. She hadn’t mean to go so far back, but somehow it had gotten dark and she’d ended up at the end. Louis is an enigma, but now Harry knows she’s an enigma who really likes sunflowers and the beach.

Louis’ face falls imperceptibly at her response and Harry feels a little bad. She can feel her body trying to push Louis away, her brain trying to shut down and stay safe by checking out, but she doesn’t want Louis to look so sad about it. She tries to find the seeds of old emotion, the ways she used to gush over things and love with a lot fewer cobwebs attached.

“I mean, I really like them. You take really beautiful pictures.” Louis stares at her, wide blue eyes like she’s still waiting for something. “I mean it.”

Louis smiles at the last bit, looking tentatively pleased. “You’re just a photogenic subject.”

Harry shakes her head. “No, all of your photos are great.”

“You looked at all of them?” Louis asks, her eyes lit up electric blue.

“Well, yeah,” Harry replies, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “Was I not supposed to?”

“Well I mostly just wanted you to see the ones of you, but I’m glad you saw all of them,” She says, then, “I want to walk you home.”

“If you’re sure,” Harry says, because her house is tiny and ramshackle but she’d grown tired of other people’s opinions long before she became quiet Harry. Even bright shiny Harry had known that there was no way to make everyone happy and that trying only made you sour and sad inside.

“Of course I want to!” Louis confirms, having the decency to at least look a little sheepish about the volume of the outburst. Harry thinks that sometimes Louis has trouble keeping all of her wrapped up inside, that sometimes bits and pieces of her fly out without her permission. “Which way?”

Harry starts down her street, beckoning for Louis to follow her. The grass is green as they trample across her neighbor’s lawns, the cool blue sky high above them, signaling spring even as she has to curl into her jacket to keep warm. She still doesn’t know why Louis even bothers, but she isn’t going to argue with her.

“So what’s your deal?” Harry asks, trying to be personable and friendly. It’s hard sometimes, trying to get the words out of her sandpaper throat but Louis asked to walk her home and they aren’t just going to walk in silence. She used to know what it was like to be soft and she can try to be that way again even if it makes her chest ache. “You’re going to be a photographer?”

Louis shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “I’d love to. I have more cameras than friends to be honest.”

Harry laughs, giving Louis a little sideways smile. “That’s a lot of cameras.”

“Only three,” Louis replies, even though Harry knows she has far more than three friends. Louis plays volleyball, she’s friends with the jocks and the preps and everyone else because she’s pretty and a little crazy and God if that doesn’t mean Harry’s half in love with her.

“You’re absolutely full of shit, Louis,” Harry says, unlatching her front gate. She thinks at one point her house was charming and suburban, but it’s mostly just depressing now, chipping white paint and sad blue shutters, a lawn that’s more dandelions than anything else. “Three friends my ass.”

“I only have three!” Louis protests as she follows Harry up the crumbling concrete walk. “Hannah, Liam...” She trails off. “I only have two!”

Harry rolls her eyes. “Are you loitering on my porch because you want to come in or because you’ve forgotten you technically only wanted to walk me home?”

“Because I want to come in,” Louis replies brightly, apparently feeling none of the anxiety Harry feels around new people. Either that, or she knows that Harry thinks she’s adorable.

“You know this kind of thing really might be why you only have two friends, Louis,” Harry teases, watching Louis’ face to make sure it’s an okay thing to say. When Louis responds by screwing up her face in pretend anger, Harry jams her key into the lock and shoves her entire body weight against the door to get it open, mostly so Louis won’t see her own persistent smile.

“See, now you’re just being rude,” Louis replies, letting Harry lead her into the cramped little kitchen and hopping up her counter without asking. Harry turns on the overhead light that buzzes like it’s dying a slow, painful death and doesn’t comment. “Do you have macaroni?”

Harry stares at her, depositing her backpack on the kitchen table. “Do you want macaroni?”

“Yes,” Louis replies, like Harry shouldn’t be surprised by this. Maybe, after everything else Louis is, she shouldn’t be.

Harry just stares at her for a long moment. “You make me want a cigarette.”

“You make me want macaroni,” Louis replies, looking up at Harry through her eyelashes.

“What are you even?” Harry asks, a smile refusing to leave her face as she yanks open the pantry doors, grabbing a box of Kraft off the bottom shelf. It’s not her normal half smile, she thinks this new one might live more in her eyes than in her mouth and that if feels just as terrifying as euphoric. “What strange planet did you come from? Are you even a human?”

“Probably not,” Louis replies, leaning back against the wall and tapping her feet lightly against the cupboards.

“Martian then?” Harry asks, fishing a pot out of the cupboard.

“Maybe. Jupiter?” Louis says, like playing along is amusing her for the moment.

“You’re a bit far from home then.” Harry says, sneaking a look at Louis out of the corner of her eye. She’s just so pretty, thin pink lips and soft hair.

“Just a few lightyears,” Louis replies, sliding her coat off thin tan arms and setting it in a ball on the counter. Harry wonders how she can keep that golden color even though the winter and thinks that Louis is probably magical and made of sunlight.

“I think it should only be a few light minutes, Harry says. “Jupiter isn’t that far in the grad scheme of things.”

She can hear the pat of Louis’ feet when they hit the ground. She comes up behind Harry, peering into the pot of barely bubbling water. “Aren’t you clever.”

“Yes, I am.” Harry says, moving out of the way so Louis can get an adequate look at the water. “Do you normally do this? Glom on to people and invade their houses and make them be your friends?” She’s still a little in awe of the whole situation, utterly confused by how Louis has been able to worm herself into Harry’s life so seamlessly. To begin with, she’s not even entirely sure why Louis is here, why she wants to be Harry’s friend so badly when Harry isn’t much more than sketches and avoidance strategies.

“Not specifically like this,” She says by way of explanation, reaching for the macaroni box and working her finger underneath the cardboard flap. “But I am both charming and persistent.”

“I can see that,” Harry says, sweeping her mess of hair back from her shoulders so it doesn’t get caught in the burner. Harry really doesn’t understand any of it, but she thinks she wants to stand in Louis’ light for as long as she can. “What are you doing?”

“Pouring the macaroni in,” Louis says, pulling the cheese packet out and dumping the raw noodles into the lukewarm water.

Harry closes her eyes, pursing her lips and considering that Louis really could be an alien sent to ruin her life. “You’re supposed to wait for the water to boil. It says so literally on the package.”

Louis shrugs, leaning back on counter. She’s all curvy and soft and Harry wants to press her against the dishwasher and touch her. She suddenly hopes that whatever kind of alien Louis is, she doesn’t know how to read minds.

“But it doesn’t matter. The noodles will still get cooked.”

Harry shakes her head. “You’re so impatient.”

Louis leans back over the pot, stirring the noodles around. “Sue me.”

Harry rolls her eyes, stepping back from the stove and letting the situation go. Louis can ruin the macaroni for all she cares.

Her eyes wander the shadows of Louis’ back, the curve of her waist, the line of her legs. She wonders if Louis would still be so determined to be her friend if she knew the sorts of things Harry thought about her.

She wishes she didn’t have to think about it.

xx

It becomes a habit, or at least something does. It might be Louis and it might be macaroni but there’s nothing else that explains the way her mouth smiles at Louis in the hall far before she’s given it permission to. Sometimes its just the small uptick of her lips but sometimes she’s grinning and Louis is grinning back and she’s aware that she’s long lost control of the situation.

She has a crippling fear that she’ll be just about as good at quitting Louis as she’s been at quitting smoking, which she’s been trying to do for about 8 months. Halfheartedly.

Louis still trails her home with excited chatter and flower print dresses when it’s warm enough and Harry doesn’t have to work. Some days, she helps Harry pack her dinner and snips her helmet on for her, chattering about her day and asking Harry about her artwork. Usually, she picks dandelions when they walk up Harry’s cracked walk and they make a beeline for the kitchen and make whatever snacks they can find.

She appreciates that Louis never asks where her parents are, never asks why the house is so tired or why Harry goes quiet about some things. When Harry doesn’t want to talk Louis tells her stories or sits quietly, tapping on her phone or doing her homework until Harry decides she wants to talk again.

It seems like so much effort, but Louis is always pleased with her even when Harry is frustrated with her own unhappiness.

“I want to take more pictures of you,” Louis says one afternoon as they sit on Harry’s stoop in the afternoon light, Louis tapping her flip flops against the concrete.

“Go ahead.” Harry shrugs. “I said you could ambush me, remember?”

Louis smiles wide. “I know, but I was being polite and asking permission.”

She snorts, nudging Louis’ bare knee with her own denim clad one. “That’s a first.”

“I’m always polite!” Louis replies. “I try very hard to be polite. It’s my hobby. My prime directive.”

“I thought your prime directive was being annoying?” Harry asks, giving a small smile.

She’s grown used to Louis presence, can’t completely remember the version of Harry that didn’t include a bouncy sidekick. She knows it’s barely been a month, but Louis is starting to feel like a permanent fixture, less carving a place in Harry’s life but settling in like the place had been there all along, just waiting for her to fill it up.

“Being annoying is my secondary directive.” Louis says, digging her camera out of it’s case. “Smile.”

Harry makes a kissy face instead, throwing up a peace sign.

Louis glowers. “That’s terrible. You’re terrible. I take back everything I said about you being photogenic.”

“No you don’t.” Harry replies, keeping the peace sign up.

Louis gives a truly amazing eyeroll. “Oh shut up. Go walk through the dandelions.”

“Are you making me get up?” Harry replies, giving her a withering look. “Can’t we just sit? Isn’t sitting artsy enough?”

“Yes I’m making you get up,” Louis’ eyes go pleading, and she throws her upper half across Harry’s legs. “It’s for art, Harry. For. Art.”

Harry mutters something decidedly murderous under her breath but she pushes Louis off and hauls herself up anyway, walking into the grass, her converse disturbing the army of dandelions residing in her front lawn. “Like this?”

“Look happy,” Louis says, manipulating her face into a rather terrifying approximation of a grin to demonstrate. “Like so.”

Harry mirrors her expression in caricature, trying to be as unattractive as possible. Even a month later, its still her default. Louis snaps a picture, sticking her tongue out petulantly. “Very funny, Harry. I’m cracking up over here.”

“I’m adorable,” Harry replies, sticking her hands in the pockets of her jeans.

“Not now you aren’t,” Louis replies, standing up and staring pensively down at the crops of weeds. Harry’s mother had always been the gardener of the family and when she left the lawn was eaten up by dandelions like they’d been lying asleep all those years, just waiting for an opportunity to take over. Harry doesn’t mind them so much, they’re pretty and yellow like a bunch of tiny suns, but she knows they upset her dad.

Harry kicks at them, sending a few seeds flying up into the air. It’s the in between time when some of them are yellow and some of them have already gone to seed, soft gray heads waving in the breeze.

“That’s pretty. Kick more,” Louis says, snapping a photo.

Harry does, hitting them with her foot so all the little seeds fly into the air, getting caught in the wind and swirling around her. They move so slowly, floating around her like fairy dust.

“You getting any good shots?” Harry asks, turning to Louis.

“Yep,” Louis responds, taking another two photos. “The lighting is beautiful.” She gets a certain look on her face when she takes pictures, half pensive, half amazed. There’s a tiny furrow in her brow, eyes narrowed but so, so bright.

“Good.” Harry replies, this time giving Louis her best smile, not for the camera just for her

Louis lowers her camera after flipping through the photos, smiling back before reaching down to pick one of the few remaining yellow flowers. “You remember that thing everyone used to do with dandelions? Like, if you held them up to your chin and it showed yellow it meant you liked butter?”

Harry gives her a look. “What?”

Louis nods enthusiastically, completely undeterred by Harry’s attitude, snowy seeds flying up around her as she crosses the grass to stand next to Harry. “Like this, see?” They’re standing chest to chest, so close Harry can feel her breath and smell the soft coconut of her perfume and she could definitely kiss her if she wanted. Louis tips Harry’s head up with her finger, holding up the dandelion so it brushes the underside of Harry’s chin. “It’s yellow! That means you like butter.”

Harry laughs, ducking her chin into her neck and shying away from Louis’ hands, hoping she isn’t blushing. “Of course I like butter. Have you ever met anyone who didn’t?”

Louis stops to think for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

Harry smiles down at her, taking the dandelion from Louis’ fingers and holding it up to her chin. “That’s what I thought.”

“That tickles,” Louis protests, but doesn’t back away. Harry thinks they’re standing a little too close, hopes she isn’t imagining it.

Harry ignores her, spinning the flower, its petals reflecting gold against her skin. “You like butter too.”

Louis smiles wide. “That I do.”

Harry wonders if the way Louis seems to glow a little more golden when Harry stands near her means that Louis likes her too.

xx

Harry’s eating lunch out in the courtyard with Zayn and Niall when Louis sits down next to her with absolutely no warning, looking, as usual, pleased with the world at large. “Harry I was finishing up my English final today and I was thinking about you because I do that sometimes, I was just thinking that I don’t have your phone number and that is probably going to become a problem because I can’t follow you home over the summer and I don’t know how else I’m going to see you.”

Harry just looks at her for a long moment, painfully aware of Zayn and Niall staring at them like they haven’t seen anything more surprising or interesting in weeks.

“Because I want to take more pictures of you. And stuff,” she finishes, taking a deep breath once she’s pushed all the words out.

Harry wonders if maybe ‘I want to take more pictures of you’ is turning into an excuse rather than the actual reason Louis wants to hang out with her. She isn’t sure how many more shots Louis can take of her being artsy outside before it starts to get old. Evidently, Louis hasn’t grown tired of it yet, and Harry isn’t exactly going to complain. “Oh. Yeah. I sorta just assumed you’d show up in my kitchen without warning. As usual.”

Louis makes a face. “I wouldn’t just show up in your kitchen without warning. I’m polite, remember?”

Harry raises her eyebrows. “No, I don’t remember that. I do remember you raiding my cabinets and bossing me around.”

Louis shushes her, handing Harry a pen and holding her hand out. Even her hands are lovely, all small and dainty, chipped red polish on her nails, a delicate chain wrapped around her wrist. “Write it on me.”

“My phone number?” Harry asks, wielding the pen in moderate confusion.

“No, your social security number and your four favorite colors in alphabetical order,” Louis replies, wiggling her fingers.

Harry pouts, scrawling her number in messy pen on Louis’ palm, then writing her name underneath and signing off with an x. “Don’t be mean. I’m a baby deer and you can’t be mean to me.”

“Oh hush, Bambi.” Louis replies, examining her palm for a moment before standing up, a chipper grin on her face. “I’ll text you later, okay?”

Harry nods, feeling her stomach do silly flip floppy things at the words. “Sure.”

For a terrifying moment Harry wonders if Louis is going to lean down and kiss the top of her head. She doesn’t, of course, because Harry is the only one with feelings growing like mushrooms after rain in her chest, but even the fleeting thought of it makes Harry’s throat feel tight.

Instead of turning and walking away, Louis waves enthusiastically as she backs up about ten paces, finally turning when she nearly trips over a group of people sitting in their own circle on the quad.

“Oh man,” Zayn says, his look far too knowing for her liking.

“Yeah, Harry,” Niall continues, wiggling up next to her. “I don’t know why you didn’t tell us that Louis was taking dirty pictures of you.”

Harry reaches for something to hit Niall with and ends up tossing a fistful of grass over his head. “Don’t be gross, it’s not like that.”

“Well I can’t think of any other reason you’d be keeping Louis a secret,” Niall says, looking seriously over at Zayn.

“I can think of one reason,” Zayn says thoughtfully.

“Oh, what reason is that?” Niall prompts, and Harry sighs, knowing she can’t stop this ridiculous back and forth.

“Well I would guess it’s because Harry has a huge crush on Louis and doesn’t want to tell us,” Zayn says, and Niall nods agreeably. “So she’s hoping if she hides her lady friend away we won’t notice her secret love affair.”

Harry waits until she’s sure Zayn and Niall are done making fun of her before she tries to defend herself. “I kept her a secret,” Harry begins, putting sarcastic finger quotes around the last word. “Because I didn’t think it was big deal because Louis is my friend and we are just friends hanging out doing things like friends.”

Zayn gives Niall a look. “Friend things.”

Niall nods, leaning in. “Friend things. Like kissing. And staring longingly into each other’s eyes.”

Zayn puts on a girlish voice, fluttering his eyelashes at Niall. “I’ll text you later, baby.”

“No one said that! Those words were never said!” Harry protests, glowering at both of them. “I can have platonic female friendships you know.”

“Sure you can.” Zayn says, taking an aloof bite of his sandwich. “But if you don’t have even the smallest crush on Louis Tomlinson I don’t believe that you have eyes. Because she is gorgeous.”

Harry scowls, wishing it wasn’t getting too warm to wear flannel. Hiding inside your clothing becomes less effective when the weather forces you wear tee shirts. “She is pretty. Stop harassing me.”

“I’m not harassing you, just opening your eyes,” Zayn says. Harry thinks she might actually strangle him to death with her bare hands. Partially because he’s being annoying, and partially because he’s right. Louis is very gorgeous and Harry has a very large and very stupid crush on her.

“Just let me crush on straight girls in peace,” Harry mumbles, taking a very annoyed bite of sandwich and frowning when Zayn and Niall high five each other.

“Don’t worry Harry, she’d be dumb not to like you. You were made to turn straight girls gay. It’s your destiny,” says Niall, tearing off a piece of cosmic brownie and pressing it to her lips until she stops pouting and lets him feed her.

“You sure know how to make a girl feel special, Ni,” Harry says, shoving him with her shoulder.

“You have the best friends ever,” Zayn confirms, stealing a potato chip from her bag.

She does, but if she told them that they’d never let her live it down so she just makes a face and leans into Niall’s shoulder. “It’s just a phone number. She’s just a friend.”

“For now,” Niall adds.

Harry hopes he’s right about that too.

xx

“Why don’t we ever go to your house?” Harry asks as they sit on her bed, Louis editing photos on her laptop while Harry sketches the tree outside her window, tiny white flowers swaying in the afternoon sunlight.

“Because it’s loud as shit,” Louis replies, giving her keyboard a few quick taps. “I have four sisters. They are demonic.”

Harry laughs. “Makes sense. You’re demonic, must be genetic.”

“That’s hilarious, Harry,” Louis replies, giving Harry a scowl. “They’re sweethearts but they also never shut up. Your house is quiet and I like it.”

“So does that mean you’re never going to introduce me?” Harry asks, then wonders if that’s normal platonic friend behavior. She’s met Zayn’s sisters a few times and Niall’s brother in passing, but she thinks a formal meetings might be reserved for girlfriends.

“I can introduce you, I’m just saying they might devour your in their demonic little sister jaws,” Louis says absentmindedly.

Harry stops drawing to stare at her. “I am pretty sure your little sisters will not eat me alive. At least 98 percent sure.”

“Don’t be so confident.” Louis replies, getting up to retrieve a hairclip from her backpack and pinning her hair back. She stands over by Harry’s desk as she pins her hair back, looking at the drawings Harry has left out. “You’re so amazing at drawing.”

Harry glances over at her, wishing she was watching back so Harry could just shrug instead of replying. “Guess so.”

“You are,” Louis says, picking up a messy outline of a deer that Harry had done during one of her forest trips and holding it in her face. “This is amazing.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, wishing she could just keep drawing and ignore the pleased feeling growing in her chest. She’s heard it before and she knows she’s good, but somehow she’s surprised by the compliment every time.

“Can I look at these?” Louis asks, her hand on some of Harry’s older sketchbooks, the ones that are filled with angry scribbled pages and shapes that seem heavy with sadness. Louis is running her fingers across the spines like she hadn’t really wanted to ask, but her expression is delicate like she knows she’s taking them both into the heart of it.

“Maybe not,” Harry says quietly. “Not yet.”

Louis nods, tucking her hands carefully against herself before picking up the deer instead. “That’s okay.”

Harry nods, turning back to her drawing and knowing that she’s braver than she’d been before, but not quiet brave enough.

xx

“So you’re coming out with us this Friday,” Niall says, stopping at her locker with a determined furrow in his brow.

“Ni,” Harry says, shouldering her backpack. She almost tries to pull out her homework excuse, but knows it’ll fall on deaf ears.

“Just me and Zayn,” Niall says. “We won’t even make you interact with the extended group.”

Harry sighs, recognizing something determined in his expression that she hasn’t seen since he first started to try to pull her out of her funk. It’s a little sobering that she’d made even Niall give up on her little bit, and a little comforting that he thinks she’s doing well enough that she’ll agree to go out. If she peers into herself, she thinks she might be doing well enough too. “Can’t talk you out this, can I?”

“Absolutely not,” Niall says as she loads up her backpack. “You aren’t getting out of hanging with your best friends Niall and Zayn any longer.”

Harry pauses, something in his tone unsettling her. “Are you upset with me?”

Niall shrugs, leaning up against the locker. “We just miss you.”

“Is this about me hanging out with Louis?” Harry asks, guiltily thinking of how she’d let Louis worm her way into Harry’s life, but she hadn’t seen Zayn and Niall outside of lunch in months.

“A little,” Niall says, at least being honest. “I get that she’s prettier than us but I think we’re just as good company.”

“You are,” Harry says, collecting the last of her books. “She just forced me into doing shit, I don’t know. She followed me home, I couldn’t exactly kick her out, you know? I wasn’t trying to like neglect you guys.” She tries to find the right words. “I’m sorry, I think I’m trying to say I’m sorry.”

“I accept your apology,” Niall says, smiling again like he usually does. “Now hang out with us. You’ve promised us at least 5 movie marathons in the last year and the clock is ticking.”

“Do we want to start with bad romantic comedies or the old superhero movies Zayn likes?” Harry says, shouldering her backpack and following Niall down the hall.

“I for one will not sit through the original Spiderman movies for the sixteenth time,” Niall says, pushing through a group of freshman until they’re at Zayn’s locker. “Guess who is coming to my house to watch 27 Dresses,” Niall announces as Zayn throws his calc book to the bottom of his locker.

“Wishes really do come true,” Zayn says, grinning over at Harry, who hits him for his trouble.

“I’m sorry for bailing on you,” Harry says, feeling that Zayn is also owed an apology. “For like, a year.”

“It’s already forgotten,” Zayn says, waving her off and leaning over to give her a kiss on the cheek that smells like his cologne and fruity bubblegum. “Please tell me Niall hasn’t talked you into The Notebook?”

“Never,” Harry replies vehemently, as Zayn slams his locker shut.

“See, this is why I’ll never give up on you,” Zayn says, leading the way out to the parking lot. Harry thinks that in light of all of her new abilities to smile and the new life growing in her tired body she should be able to love them better.

xx

The Chinese restaurant is packed by the time they get there, since they’d finished the movie exactly at dinner time. Niall is already raving about the egg rolls he’s going to get as they sit down, Zayn nabbing a few sugar packets to pick at until their food arrives.

“I still can’t believe you do that,” Harry says, watching him lick his finger, shove it into the sugar packet and suck the sugar off. “You’re a boy, not a hummingbird.”

“Sorry it’s delicious,” Zayn says, scanning the menu. “I’m just doing what everyone else secretly wants to.”

Harry rolls her eyes and decides not to comment. She’s starting to feel a little antsy, possibly a side effect of going out after being in for so long, an overwhelming desire to sit on her bed for fifteen minutes and recharge or sketch something. Still, she’s missed the boys, missed meeting them for dinner and goofing around with them. It was easy once and maybe it’ll be easy again.

“So what’s up with Louis?” Niall says, giving her a significant look over the top of his menu. Harry rolls her eyes and so Niall throws his straw wrapper at her. “I didn’t ask you during the whole movie!”

“Your patience is commendable,” Harry says sarcastically, tossing it back at him. “But I can assure you she only thinks of me as a friend.”

Niall frowns deeply. “But she asked you for your number.”

“Straight girls do that to other straight girls,” Harry says. “You can’t even hit on straight girls because they think you’re just being friendly.”

“So how do you know she’s not hitting on you?” Zayn says, looking very pleased with himself for someone eating straight out of a sugar packet.

“Because she isn’t,” Harry says firmly. “I don’t even know why she’s going to so much trouble.”

“Because you’re cute and a good time?” Niall volunteers. “Because she has a crush on you.”

“She says I’m photogenic,” Harry says. “I don’t know, it started because she wanted to take pictures of me.”

“She thinks you’re pretty, you idiot,” Niall says, tossing the straw wrapper back at her. Harry pockets it instead of throwing it so they don’t move up to larger projectiles.

“You can think someone is pretty and not have a crush on them,” Harry says despondently.

“Well why does she keep bothering you to hang out with her?” Zayn says. “You’ve agreed that it doesn’t make sense. Which maybe it doesn’t, unless she likes you.”

“You’re getting my hopes up,” Harry says, hiding behind the menu.

“Good,” Niall says, just as the waitress arrives and puts at least a temporary stop to the pestering.

xx

Louis is going through Harry’s closet, rummaging through drawers as Harry watches her, because she’d spilled juice down the front of her tee shirt and decided to go searching for a replacement before Harry had even had time to offer her a towel.

“Can I borrow this one?” Louis asks, pulling a cream colored tee shirt off the hanger, a wold map printed on the front.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Harry replies, starting as Louis pulls her shirt over head without warning, revealing a pale blue bra and a faint tan line across her shoulders. Harry adverts her eyes, because she isn’t a creep, but she can’t scrub the image of Louis’ waist from her mind, the way it curved ever so slightly inward, growing soft at her hips. Louis’ body is rude. It’s rude and unnecessary and it is probably going to send Harry to an early grave.

“Well I look adorable,” Louis says, turning to look in the mirror nailed to the back of Harry’s door. “I should steal your clothes more often.”

“Yes but then it would be so disappointing when I wore them after you and they didn’t look half as good,” Harry says, and she’s never felt badly about her body but Louis has these curves that fill out the cotton and she makes everything look amazing.

“Oh pish posh, Harry,” Louis replies, crawling up onto Harry’s bed and curling up with one her pillows. “You’re all long and thin and stuff. Like a model.”

Harry rolls her eyes, laying down next to Louis and looking up at the ceiling. “I made something for you,” she says, changing the subject before they can have a body positivity pity party and Harry is forced to admit that Louis’ body is perfect. She doesn’t think there would be any way for her to say it that wouldn’t sound ridiculously lovesick.

Louis sits up, staring down at Harry with surprise and joy. “You made me something?”

“It’s just like, a small thing,” Harry says, suddenly embarrassed. She wasn’t even going to tell her about it, thought she could just stick it in her backpack when she left the room and hope she found it once she was home.

“Small things are great,” Louis says, her hair falling into her face as she grins down at Harry. “Can I see? Are you going to give it to me now?”

“Can I give it to you and have you look at it later?” Harry asks, sliding off the bed and fiddling with the folders on her desk.

“No,” Louis says stubbornly, leaning back against the wall, her legs stretched out across the comforter. “Only if you have to. I hate waiting.”

“I know,” Harry says, already amused by the curiosity in Louis’ gaze. “Just out of curiosity, did you try to peek on your Christmas presents before Christmas?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” Louis teases, back, pulling her knees up to rest her chin on the them. “You don’t have to give it to me now, it’s okay.”

“Just don’t tell me if you hate it,” Harry says, pulling the thick sheet of paper out of the folder and offering to Louis.

“Oh!” Louis says, taking the paper from her hands and looking at intently as Harry busies herself tidying the clothes she’d left on her carpet. “You’ve never drawn me anything before.”

“S’just doodles,” Harry says, her cheeks red with self consciousness. She hadn’t sat down to drawn Louis anything, but she’d gotten started drawing daises and by the time she’d filled the whole page with clouds and sunflowers she’d known it had to be for Louis.

“It’s beautiful!” Louis says, and Harry allows herself to sneak a look at her face, which is glowing with happiness.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, a nervous laugh still bubbling up in her mouth

“Yes,” Louis says, setting the drawing carefully on the duvet and coming up behind Harry to hug her around the waist. “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” Harry says, trying not to move, trying not to breath in too deep.

“I love sunflowers.”

“I know,” Harry says, feeling the words rumble through her chest and her stomach where Louis’ arms are pressed, up her back and to her shoulder where Louis has rested her cheek.

“Daisies too.”

“I know.”

Harry doesn’t move, waits for Louis to let go of her and for everything to return to normal, waits for the nervous warmth that Louis has conjured up inside her to disperse and for the feeling of her body pressed against Harry’s back to fade. Louis doesn’t let go right away and the moment holds, still, like a photograph.

xx

Three days later, while Harry is sitting on Zayn’s couch while they binge the original Batman, Louis texts Harry a photo of the drawing she’d given her, hung up next to all her photographs and art prints. The following text says: Finally put it up!!! Looks perfect !!!!!

Niall pesters her about why she’s grinning until she breaks down and shows him, and then teases her about her crush for the next thirty minutes.

xx

Harry is watching her fourth consecutive episode of some awful reality television show when her phone buzzes in the pocket of her sweats.

Louis 6:13

Mom was on call and had to go in to the hospital so I’m babysitting the girls, do you want to come over ??  
I’m going to EAT MY AHNDS !!!!!!  
*HANDS

Harry 6:13

Please don’t eat your own hands.  
You sure it’s okay?

Louis 6:13

Yeah its fine !!!  
Save me Harry !!!!

Harry rolls her eyes, shutting the tv off and tramping over to where her Dad is reading the paper on the couch, looking his normal weekday combination of bored and beleaguered. “I’m going to Louis’, okay?”

He pauses, folding his paper down to look at her. He doesn’t seem like he really knows what he wants his face to make but seems to be trying for something like paternal concern. “Who’s Louis?”

“She comes over all the time,” Harry says. “Short hair.”

“Oh yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Harry nods. “Yep.”

“Just don’t stay out late,” he says, then hides behind his newspaper again, the words sounding more like a bandaid than anything else.

“Cool,” she says, slipping back out of the room to throw on some shoes before heading out. The evening is starting to get a vaguely ominous chill to it, goosebumps rising on Harry’s bare shoulders as she gets into her car. It’s not too cloudy yet but she can feel impending rain in the air.

She follows the relatively helpful directions Louis had texted her, ending up in front of a two story yellow sided house with only one small detour. She pulls out her phone, looking up at the quickly darkening sky.

Harry 6:24

The yellow one, right? Number 813?

She doesn’t get a reply before the door bursts open, a small blonde haired child sticking her head out, Louis standing behind her with a smaller one in her arms. She waves when she sees Harry, calling a greeting across the lawn.

Harry waves back, cutting across the grass and hurrying into the house as the first few raindrops catch her arms. “You look like you’re having fun.” Harry says, motioning to the passel of girls that have followed Louis to the front door.

Louis makes a face. “Oh just a blast.” But there’s a warmth in her eyes that suggests she’s more fond than she lets on. “Fizz, Lottie, Daze and Pheebs, this is Harry. Harry if you can’t tell Daisy and Phoebe apart just refer to them as monsters 1 and 2, they’ll probably reply.”

“Hey!” The one on the ground says, punching Louis in the leg. “I’m not a monster.”

“Yes you are,” Louis replies easily, looking up as a low roll of thunder sounds.

The monster Louis is holding makes a whiny noise and buries her face in her chest. “I hate thunder.”

Louis presses a kiss to the top of her head, smiling when she tries to wiggle away from it. “That’s why Harry’s here. She’s going to protect us.”

Harry nods, trying to look as serious as possible. “I’m an expert at protecting people from storms. Promise.”

Fizz, who is evidently too old to be frightened by thunderstorms, takes Harry’s hand. “I’m an expert too. We’ll protect you, Phoebe.”

Harry smiles, squeezing her fingers. “Glad to have another expert in our midst.”

She nods, all business, tugging Harry into the living room. “Come downstairs, that’s the safest place to be in a thunderstorm. Because there’ll be a lot of rain and lots of loud noises and so we need to make sure we’re all taken care of.”

Harry laughs, letting herself be dragged through the dining room and down the stairs, only looking back to make sure Louis is following her. She is, a grin on her face like she’s enjoying herself a little too much.

“Now we’re safe,” Fizzy declares, flopping down on the enormous couch. “We have to make sure we don’t open any windows and make sure we don’t go outside so we don’t get struck by lightning and also we should watch a movie.”

Harry laughs, seeing a starting resemblance between Louis and her younger sister. “She’s like a little Louis clone,” She says as Louis makes sure the twins don’t fall face first down the stairs. “I’m a little alarmed, I didn’t think we needed two.”

Louis makes a face, heading for the DVDs as the girls arrange themselves around Harry on the couch. “Of course we need two of me. Maybe even three or four.”

“By my count we seem to have five,” Harry says, tapping each of the girls on the head as she does.

“Hilarious once again Harry,” Louis replies, giving her a snide look over her shoulder. “Alright are we watching The Incredibles or Princess and the Frog?”

“Tangled!” yells the monster that has situated herself next to Harry. “Tangled Tangled Tangled!”

Lottie squawks in protest. “We’ve watched that movie thirteen times!” She turns Louis for help. “Thirteen times!”

Louis laughs, shaking her head. “No more Tangled. Not for many, many years.”

“Princess and the Frog!” Lottie says, looking like she’s just won the lottery.

Fizz shakes her head vehemently. “Incredibles. S’better. Superheroes are the best.”

“I’m older and I want Princess and the Frog,” Lottie replies, shrugging her shoulders.

“I’m oldest and I say Harry gets to choose,” Louis says, eyes sparkling as she turns to her. “Choose wisely, darling.”

Fizz squirms up to close to Harry, cupping her hand and whispering Incredibles into her ear in a very covert fashion just as Lottie pokes her thigh expectantly. She suspects Lottie might be the violent one, and is not entirely sure choosing either way would be very beneficial to her continued physical health. “Do you have Aristocats?”

Louis smiles. “I do indeed.”

Harry returns the grin. “Well then I want to watch Aristocats.” She turns, stage whispering to Fizz. “Sorry, I was afraid Lottie would bite me if I picked Incredibles. I was on your side.”

Fizz nods in understanding as Lottie pokes her once again in the leg.

“Lottie don’t poke the guests,” is Louis’ only admonishment, and Harry briefly wonders if she’s secretly enjoying watching her sisters give Harry a hard time. Louis pushes Artistocats in the DVD player and shuts off the lights, coming to stand in front of the couch as the opening plays, hands on her hips and a pout on her face. “So am I not allowed to sit next Harry then?”

Fizz shakes her head. “Harry and I are experts.”

“If you sit between us then I can’t poke her if she gets out of line,” Lottie replies, shrugging like this is completely out of her jurisdiction.

Louis pretends to be upset, settling down between Lottie and one of the monsters. “I don’t think Harry is going to get out of line, but I appreciate the concern.”

“No problem,” Lottie says, just as the movie starts up, eliciting a shushing from Fizz.

Harry can hear the patter of rain outside and the slow roll of thunder but it’s warm in the basement and there’s something comforting about being with other people in the darkness. She tries not to sneak glances at Louis but she can’t help it, can’t stop watching the light play across her face, the way her eyelashes send shadows down her cheeks.

Louis catches her watching a few times, smiling like it’s what she expected. Harry doesn’t know what to make of that, doesn’t know how to put the tiles together to get the words she wants.

Near the end of the movie, after both of the twins have nearly drifted off, Louis reaches one hand across the back of the couch, wiggling her fingers for Harry to take. Harry hesitates for a moment before reaching back, twining their fingers together. She’s too tired to figure out what that means, too caught up in the soft quiet of the room and the slight chill that clings to the tips of Louis’ fingers.

They’re still holding hands when the movie ends, and Louis still doesn’t pull away even after she asks Lottie to get the little ones ready for bed, telling her she’ll be up later. Lottie doesn’t protest, yawning as she and Fizz heard them upstairs, significantly more subdued than before.

“So we’re finally alone,” Louis says, making a face like she’s trying to be goofy, even as Harry’s chest tightens at the words.

Harry tries not to betray the way that little mushrooms have grown where there used to be rot in her bones, how a few more grow every time Louis touches her. “Worst part of the night.”

Louis shakes her head, sleepy eyes nearly closed. “You don’t mean that.”

Somehow, how small Louis actually is becomes less surprising when she’s tired, when she runs out of manic energy and her edges go fuzzy. It makes Harry want to wrap herself around her and its the best worst feeling she’s ever had.

“No, of course not,” Harry replies, because there’s something in the air that beckons the words out, like the summer storm will absorb all her secrets. They both tease but she cares about Louis in a way she hadn’t quite expected to, beyond her perfect body, beyond the delicate curves of her face.

“I’m tired,” Louis says, finally letting go of Harry’s hand so she can pull a blanket down from the top of the couch and wrap it around her shoulders. “Can you sleep over?”

Harry nods, moving so her back is resting against the arm of the couch, propping her feet up on the couch. What her dad doesn’t know probably won’t kill him. “Yep. But I don’t have my pjs. Or my toothbrush.”

Louis sits up without a reply, pushing Harry’s legs to the side so she can crawl up next to them. She pauses, hanging over Harry like she’s only thought to ask permission halfway through. “Can I sleep on you?”

Harry nods, focusing on breathing correctly, on not kissing Louis, on keeping her heart from jumping out of her ribcage. “Make yourself at home.”

Louis smiles, settling down so her head is resting by Harry’s shoulder, spooning against her side. “Thank you.”

“I’m bigger, shouldn’t I be the big spoon?” Harry asks, turning onto her side so they’re nose to nose in the darkness.

“No,” she replies, throwing an arm over Harry’s waist and tugging her just a little bit closer. Harry lets herself be pulled, tucking her chin to the top of Louis’ head.

Harry smiles, closing her eyes and breathing Louis in, listening to the rain and the thunder and wondering if there’s any better way to fall asleep.

By the time she finally drifts off, she still hasn’t thought of any.

xx

They’re sitting in the park, Louis instragramming what Harry is fairly sure is her fourth picture of the clouds. Harry has her sketchpad out, drawing a dandelion that’s growing by their feet, her hair falling in her face even though she tied it back in a bird’s nest of a bun.

“Why don’t you ever draw me?” Louis asks, laying over Harry’s shoulders to get a good look at the dandelion sketch.

Harry pauses what she’s doing before Louis’ incessant movement can mess her up. “Do you want me to draw you?”

Louis looks pensive for a moment, before nodding. “Most definitely. I mean if you want to, I don’t want to ask if you don’t want to. Are you good at drawing people?”

Harry gives her a quiet little smile, nodding ever so slightly. “I’m alright at drawing people. I’d love to draw you, you have a great profile.”

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” She asks, readjusting herself so she’s looking out across the park and setting her hands in her lap in some attempt to be proper. There’s the smallest bit of a warm wind and it plays with the longer strands of Louis’ hair and gets caught in the cotton of her shirt.

“Shh, I’m drawing,” Harry says, moving so she’s facing Louis and tapping her eraser to her lips. The truth is she barely draws anyone. It took her years to draw Zayn and Niall and she still prefers to sketch from pictures rather than real life. Portraits are so intimate, it feels like she’s crawling into whoever she’s drawing, fleshing out how they make her feel.

Louis is a challenge. Her face is classic and dainty but there’s a light in her eyes that Harry wants to catch, but isn’t sure how. She traces out the template circles, filling the line of Louis’ nose and the quirk of her mouth, smiling as Louis fidgets.

“You can move you know, just not too much,” Harry says, starting her eye with a long swoop. “Its not an old photograph. You won’t blur.”

Louis laughs, running a hand through her hair. “I just don’t want to mess up the picture.”

Harry shakes her head. “You won’t. I know your face pretty well at this point.”

Louis ducks her head, looking quietly pleased. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

Harry just smiles, tracing the outline of her lips. Sometimes she feels like she understands Louis more than she understands herself. She has a sneaking feeling that Louis feels the same way about her.

The clarity is a comfort.

xx

Harry has ended up at Niall’s house on a Thursday; her, Zayn, and a few kids from class in his pool, the late afternoon sun sharp and hot on the shifting blue surface of the water. Niall’s already instigated about four splash fights and they’ve only been there for an hour, leaving her soaked even though she wasn’t planning on getting her hair wet.

Zayn surfaces next to her, shaking out his hair like a dog, the product long washed out of it. “Having a blast, Hare Bear?”

She raises her eyebrows. “I’m recovering from all the water you splashed into my eyes. Also, Hare Bear?”

He shrugs, slicking his hair back with water so he looks like a south asian Draco Malfoy. “It felt right. Don’t make me explain myself.” He heaves himself onto the deck, flicking water at her. “Where’s your girl?”

“She’s not my girl,” Harry reminds him, though it sounds empty even to her ears.

“And yet there’s only one girl we could possibility talking about, leading me to the assumption that she just might be your girl,” Zayn says, eyebrows raised in blatant suggestion.

“She’s at her sister’s dance recital,” Harry replies, instead of trying to fight him on it. When Louis had declined her invitation she’d been almost glad for it, since bringing Louis into her social circle is still vaguely terrifying. Or rather, social triangle, as it mainly includes Niall and Zayn. She told herself for a while that it was because she didn’t want Zayn and Niall to scare her off, but it was more because at the beginning she was pretty sure Louis wasn’t going to stay.

“You can’t hide her from us forever,” Zayn teases, water droplets dripping down his scrawny chest and a warmth in his eyes.

“I won’t,” she said, both because Zayn and Niall won’t let it drop and because she does want all of them to get along. She’s done scary things before and she’ll do them again, she just has to work up to it.

“Good,” Zayn said, slinging an arm around her and resting his head against her shoulder, his hair ticking her neck where it curls away from his head. “I’m glad you’re friends. She makes you happy.”

Harry sighs. “Yeah I know.” She doesn’t even know if happy is the right word at this point. Louis makes her feelings blur together and keeps her head clear and makes her smile so much she thinks her face is going to stick that way.

Zayn shakes his head, and she can smell cigarettes and mint gum on his breath and chlorine in his skin. “I mean it, you seem a lot happier. More happy than I’ve seen you...” He trails off for a moment, but Harry knows what he’s talking about. Since her parents started screaming at each other, since her mom walked out and didn’t come back. “I don’t know if that’s her or not but whatever it is, I’m happy you’re hanging out with us again and I’m happy you’re happy.” He smiles up at her, warm brown eyes and a grin to match. “Proud of you.”

Harry wants to roll her eyes but somehow his words are too touching to trivialize, so she just smiles and leans against him. “A lot of it is Summer I think. I got into this routine for a while where I just felt like shit all the time.” She pauses, watching Niall try to undo Alice’s bikini top with moderate interest. “But some of it’s her.”

He smiles, splashing at the water with his free had. “Yeah I know.”

She can feel it, though she isn’t quite sure when exactly it happened or what the catalyst was, the way she feels lighter inside, how her blood feels clear and she can breath freely again. When dead things rot, they become soil again and

Some of it’s summer. Some of it’s Louis.

xx

Harry decides, as she’s spooning macaroni into plastic bowls, to be the smallest bit brave.

“Do you still want to see my old sketches?” she asks, glancing briefly over at Louis, who’s sitting on the counter. Mid-afternoon light catches the dust floating near the window and Louis is playing on her phone, only looking up when Harry speaks.

Harry hears Louis’ feet hit the floor and pretends to be engrossed with making sure each bowl has the same amount of noodles.

“Only if you want to show me,” Louis says, taking the dirty pot from Harry’s hands and setting it in the sink, filling it up with water.

“It’s fine either way,” Harry says, nervousness holding her tight like an embrace.

Louis shuts the tap off, grabbing her bowl off the counter and leading the way to Harry’s room. “I mean I want to see them, but I know they’re private. You don’t have to show me.”

It’s especially touching from Louis, who forgets to ask first and can’t be patient, to know that she’s trying so hard to make Harry comfortable.

“I want to,” Harry says, following Louis in and shutting the door with her foot. Louis pushes the curtains back to let more light in as Harry peruses the stacks of old sketchbooks, trying to choose which one she wants to share. She picks a thin spined book with stickers stuck on the front, one she knows is about as angry and sad as it gets. “It’s a bit dark.”

“I really don’t mind,” Louis says, laying down on Harry’s bed with her mac and cheese, even though Harry’s told her a million times not to eat on the bed. Today, Harry joins her instead of arguing, dropping the sketchpad onto the comforter for Louis to look through.

“Pretty,” is the first thing that Louis says, after flipping up the cover to the first of many monsters. Harry hasn’t drawn them in a while, not since the worst of the hiding-under-her-covers, sneaking-out-to-make-dinner-after-her-parents-were-asleep-in-separate-rooms, her-dad-losing-his-job, failing-all-her-classes.

“Scary,” Harry says instead, resting her chin on Louis’ shoulder, awash in nerves. In the dark angry lines she can see someone that doesn’t quite seem like her anymore, another self spiraling back into the distance, slowly coming unmoored from where she is now. She still has some of the old rot but it’s not her entire body anymore, it doesn’t curl behind her eyelids when she sleeps, doesn’t collapse her lungs or soak in her stomach. “It wasn’t a good time.”

“They look sad,” Louis says, frowning at a creature with long arms and nothing but a blur where its face should be.

“It doesn’t have a face,” Harry says.

“Doesn’t mean it can’t look sad,” Louis says, flipping to a page that’s all scribbles. “That’s more angry.”

“It’s weird to see them now,” Harry murmurs, remembering the days and nights she’d spent drawing them, remembering that everything felt the end of the goddamn world.

“They’re so different from what you draw now,” Louis says, squinting at a long thin monster that curls around the top of the page, its claws reaching back down to the bottom. “It’s still your style, but different.”

“Yeah I guess so,” Harry says, sitting back and taking a bite of her mac and cheese so she doesn’t have to look at them anymore. It’s like staring back down a hole she’s just crawled out of and it’s one step too close to falling back in. “I was so upset all the time.”

“It shows,” Louis says quietly, her mouth turned down. “I’m really sorry. I’m glad you’re not upset anymore.”

“Me too,” Harry says, even though she is sometimes and Louis knows that. She knows sadness doesn’t stay away forever, just hides and waits to climb in again. Still, it hasn’t built a house in her chest in months.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Louis asks, still flipping slowly through the sketchbook and letting Harry avoid her gaze.

“I don’t know what there is to say.”

Harry watches Louis’ hands as she touches the sketchbook with care, her fingers reverent on the pages. It’s too hot in the room, the sun pouring through the windows and the air turning slow and honeyed, all of Harry’s secrets rising up towards the ceiling.

“My mom left,” Harry says. “Haven’t talked to her since last year.”

Louis nods slowly. “I kinda wondered,” she says, leaning back to eat her macaroni so she doesn’t spill on the pages. They still aren’t looking at each other, since it’s easier that way. “I wasn’t sure if it would be okay to ask.”

“It’s ok,” Harry says. “You can ask me whatever you want.”

Louis is only quiet for the smallest breath of a moment. “Why did she leave?”

“She was tired of us,” Harry says, shrugging when Louis turns around with a frown on her face.

“That’s not it,” Louis says seriously, her eyebrows furrowed.

“It was.” Harry knows moms shouldn’t do that, knows that moms don’t get tired of their families and pack up and never come back, but hers did and she’s had to untangle that for months.

“Well you know it wasn’t you, right? It’s not your fault?” Louis asks, petulant even though she’s trying to help.

“Don’t worry, I know its not my fault,” Harry says, resigned, swirling in summer heat.

“Good,” Louis says firmly, lingering on the last page of the sketchbook. “My parents split when I was really young, before my sisters were old enough to know what to do. It’s different but like, I get how hard it is when shit falls apart. How much falls on you.”

Harry nods, watching the back of her head and the way her hair falls. She picks out all the small pieces of Louis that read like scar tissue. They’re visible once Harry can peel the truth back, something about the frenetic persistence of Louis’ words and how she always talks too loud and doesn’t leave well enough alone. In that exuberance Harry can see the need to fill what used to be stagnant broiling quiet. She can see old fractures in the softness that Louis still has with the little ones, sending them to bed and making sure they aren’t afraid of the storms. Harry wonders if she’ll ever be that bright, if her scar tissue will ever grow as soft.

“I know you know how it is,” Harry says, resting her bowl on her knees down so she can lean against Louis’ back, resting her cheek against her shoulder. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Louis examines at the monster on the final page in its blurry gray glory and lets Harry lean on her.

xx

Harry’s phone gives three quick, excited buzzes on her dresser and she grabs it with a groan, squinting at the screen in the morning light.

Louis 11:34

The camera I ordered just came in !!

Louis 11:34

I am literally crying I need to show it to you oh my god

Louis 11:35

Harry it is nearly noon wake up put on your clothes I am coming to your house

Harry lets out another groan before replying, not quite loud enough to be theatrical but enough to be satisfying.

Harry 11:35

I’m not wearing pants don’t you dare

The response comes after barely a beat.

 

Louis 11:35

Glad I got your attention I’m coming to your house

Harry 11:36

There is nothing I can do to talk you out of this is there

Louis 11:36

Nothing

Harry purses her lips, knowing that any argument is futile. None of Harry’s hangups about objectively inappropriate social situations have stopped Louis in the past, and she can’t imagine this will be any different.

Harry 11:36

fine

Harry slides out of bed, her feet hitting the floor with what she can describe only as a disappointed thump. Nothing should happen before noon, not even Louis related things.

She rummages around until she finds a pair of shorts, pulling them up her legs and zombie walking to her mirror. Really, the damage could be worse. She’d showered after she’d gotten home from Niall’s so her hair is still pretty clean, though her face is really putting the ‘dead’ into dead skin.

She trudges to the bathroom, splashing water on her face until she looks somewhat alive, heading back into her room to pick up the clothes strewn across her carpet. She can hear the low grumble of a lawnmower and the higher calls of birds, the breeze making her room smell like sunlight. She wonders if ‘I’m coming to your house’ means immediately or in an hour, after Harry has time to surf the web and properly return to the land of the living. Knowing Louis, it’s probably the former.

There’s an insistent rapping at her door and she heads out to get it, finding Louis standing on her porch with a box in her hand.

“It’s actually the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she says, heading for Harry’s bedroom and making herself at home on the unmade bed. “I can’t decide what to take a picture of first.” She opens the cardboard box in her lap, pulling out a boxy polaroid camera and running her fingers across the top.

“That’s so cool. I used to have a film camera when I was little but I don’t know what happened to it.” Harry reaches out, Louis easing the camera into her hands like it’s a baby. “I might have broken mine. I was clumsy and things were dropped.”

Louis laughs, leaning back into Harry’s pillows as she examines the camera. “But you’re just so graceful now, aren’t you?”

Harry grimaces, looking through the viewfinder at Louis, who smiles. “You can take a picture if you want.”

“You sure?” Harry asks, her finger hovering over the button. “It’s your camera, I thought you’d want to take the first shot.”

Louis shakes her head, stretching her arms high above her like a cat, a small smile on her face. “Not at all.”

Harry nods, sitting up and squinting as she points the viewfinder at Louis. “Smile.”

Louis does, a grin spreading across her face, her hair splayed out on Harry’s pillow, tight blue tee shirt riding up on her stomach. Harry keeps the camera up for a long moment after she takes the picture just so she can look at her, her ribcage refusing to expand for her lungs.

Louis sits up, retrieving the picture and waving it in the still morning air, humming under her breath. She looks pretty, even so early, no sign of sleep on her face even as Harry knows she’s nursing dark circles.

Louis peered at the slowly developing photo. “Oh it’s perfect. Look at it.”

She holds it out, the front shimmery and dark but slowly coloring up. It looks like real life but more concentrated, the camera catching the sunlight perfectly. Something about the photograph made everything warm and incorporeal, like the photo was of the room and everything else too.

“You look lovely,” Harry says, knowing even as she says it that her voice has betrayed her.

Louis takes her camera from Harry’s hands, cradling it to her stomach. “You always look lovely. That’s why I like taking pictures of you.”

Harry smiles, feeling a flush on her cheeks. Louis is so constantly sweet that sometimes Harry thinks there might be some reason to hope, which is even worse than if she thought she didn’t have any chance.

Louis slides off her bed, setting the print on Harry’s dresser and pausing there, glancing over at the hooks where Harry keeps her necklaces. “That’s not-” Louis wanders over to the hooks, peering more closely. “Is that the daisy chain I gave you?”

Harry sits up, feeling the old crush of fear and love like every other time Louis has almost caught her caring too much. “Yeah, I hung it up and forgot about it I guess,” she says, trying for nonchalant and not quite getting there. There are too many flowers in her throat and not enough air in her lungs and Louis is too pretty so early.

“It didn’t rot?” Louis asks, her fingers brushing feather light over the dried blooms. They’ve lost a few flowers but the chain is almost as it was when Louis gave it to her, dried and beautiful.

“I guess not,” Harry says, laying down so she doesn’t have to look right at her, staring at the ceiling like that will clear the clouds in her head. “Still pretty.”

“Who knew,” Louis says, lingering at the other side of the room. “I like that you still have it.”

“Seemed wrong to throw it out,” Harry says, looking over as Louis crawls into bed next to her, rearranging Harry so Harry’s head is in her lap, carding her fingers through messy curls.

Harry smiles, closing her eyes and letting Louis tug the knots out of her hair, letting out a soft happy noise.

“I’d keep anything you gave me,” Louis says gently, like an afterthought.

Harry isn’t sure how to reply so she just keeps her eyes shut and lets Louis play with her hair and speak to her in that soft morning voice.

Louis brushes her fingers across Harry’s forehead, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Did you know that you get this look on your face when you draw? Kind of like your eyes see the world differently when you’re sketching it?”

“I didn’t know that,” Harry mumbles, Louis’ fingers turning her soft too.

“I’m going to take your picture now,” Louis says, removing her hands and rustling in the sheets. Harry opens her eyes, looking up at Louis with her camera held to her face, her lips parted the smallest bit.

Harry smiles as the picture takes, Louis removing the frame and waving it around before leaning to set it on the floor. “Touch my hair more,” Harry says, reaching blindly for Louis’ hands.

Louis takes her wrists instead, leaning down and pressing their noses together. Harry isn’t sure if Louis notices the way her breath catches in throat, how there is so much more in her body than blood, how there’s sunlight and tiny mushrooms too.

“Oh no,” Louis says softly, the ghost of a smile curling across her face. “Oh no, Harry.”

Harry squints up at her, feeling strange and embarrassed and a little terrified but mostly like she never wants Louis to stop touching her. “What?”

Louis shakes her head, pausing for a long moment before leaning down and pressing her lips quickly against Harry’s, so fast Harry isn’t entirely sure that it’s happened.

“Louis?” Harry asks, sitting up slowly, her legs tucked up beneath her, hands sinking into the mattress.

Louis shrugs, looking out the window, her cheeks pink, all her tumbling words reduced. “Sorry.”

Harry reaches out to lay a hand on Louis’ cheek, running her thumb across the place her jaw meets her neck. “Don’t be like that. Look at me.”

Louis does, soft nervous eyes and parted lips. “Sorry.”

Harry pulls her in, pressing their mouths together, keeping her eyes open just long enough to see Louis’ fall closed. Louis kisses timidly at first, her hand seeking Harry’s on the bed, twining their fingers together and Harry lets her lead.

She feels Louis pull at the front of her shirt, tugging them backwards, Harry’s body falling onto Louis, their legs tangling together. Harry holds tight to Louis’ hand, their fingers clasped together, holding herself up with the other arm.

It’s better than she imagined, Louis warm beneath her, her hands coming up to tangle in Harry’s hair. Louis is excitable and manic but she kisses carefully, her tongue pressing into Harry’s mouth, her hands holding tight.

Louis pulls back for a moment, a smile on her face like sunlight itself as she stares up at Harry. “You always look like a picture,” she whispers.

Harry kisses her quickly on the mouth, wanting to measure out the softness of her body in minutes and seconds. She wants to dust Louis for fingerprints with her lips and find only hers.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing,” she admits when Harry stays quiet. “I’m only out to Hannah and Liam like, no one knows.”

Harry nudges her nose against Louis’. “That’s okay. You’re fine.”

Louis nods, taking a shaky breath in and then out again. “I know. I know it’s fine. Kiss me more please.”

“Tell me if it’s too much.” Harry says, running her hand up Louis’ side, making her shiver even though it’s warm.

She nods, letting her eye flutter closed. “It’s not too much.”

Harry smiles, closing the gap between them, snaking her hand up beneath Louis’ shirt and fiddling with the clasp of her bra, undoing it with steady hands. Louis makes a soft sound into Harry’s mouth but doesn’t say a word, just grips her hand tighter, fingers pulling at her hair ever so slightly.

Harry runs her hand down Louis’ ribcage, learning just how hard she needs to press to make her breathing go funny, what makes her fingers hold just a little tighter. Harry can’t remember the last time she was this gentle with anyone, the last time she wanted to be. It’s just that Louis is precious and breakable, even though she doesn’t know it, and Harry can’t hurt her, has to make sure she wants this.

Louis arches against her fingertips, letting Harry kiss down her jawline, the soft skin of her neck, letting her suck marks against her collarbones. Harry sits up, straddling Louis’ thighs, pulling her shirt over her head.

Louis smiles up at her, reaching to hold Harry’s hips. “Get my camera.”

Harry gives her a bemused look, before grabbing it off the dresser. “Yeah?”

She nods, sitting up and taking it from Harry’s hands, shuffling around so they’re sitting with their knees touching. “This isn’t weird, is it?” She asks, pulling her shirt off and letting it fall on the floor, shedding her bra in the process.

Harry shakes her head, trying not to stare. She’s still having trouble with the fact that she can do this now, that she’s actually allowed to touch her. “Not weird.”

Louis smiles, raising the camera to her face and taking a picture of Harry. “Perfect.”

“Come on,” she says, taking Harry’s hand as soon as she’s set the picture aside, pulling her to the mirror mounted over her dresser.

She threads her arms around Harry’s waist, resting her chin on Harry’s shoulder and pressing the camera into her hands. “Take a picture of us.”

Harry does, holding the camera down by her waist as she takes the photo, both of them smiling softly in the morning sunlight, wrapped around each other like vines.

xx

Harry keeps the picture of Louis and the picture of them in her dresser, taking them out on the days she still feels sad. Those days come less often now.

xx

The sand burns Harry’s feet as she walks across it to where Niall and Zayn are already sprawled on their towels, their beach bags, a cooler, and a volleyball dumped in a pile next to them. Louis and Harry had been running late on account of Louis losing her sunglasses and Harry needing to track down the sunscreen, but they’ve still arrived before Hannah and Liam which is something.

“You guys awake?” Harry yells once she gets within earshot, smiling when Niall rolls over and waves at her.

“Zayn’s asleep,” Niall says when they get closer, earning him a lazy shove from Zayn.

“Am not,” he says, sitting up and sticking his hat on, dumping sand on himself in the process. “Hello, Lovebirds.”

“Hi Zayn, hi Niall,” Louis says, sneaking a glance at Harry and giving them a nervous wave.

“Hi Louis, nice to finally see you,” Niall says, blowing her a kiss. “You are just as cute as Harry has led us to believe.”

Louis laughs, even though Niall is being annoying.

“Stop teasing,” Harry says, kicking a bit of sand at him she sets up her towel. “You thought she was cute without my help.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, setting her towel next to herself and laying down so she’s nose to nose with Niall. “We’re all charming and cute.”

“We are,” Zayn agrees, peering at both of them over his sunglasses. “Nice to meet you as Harry’s girlfriend.”

Louis beams, reaching for Harry’s hand as she settles on her towel. “It’s nice for me too.”

Zayn rolls his eyes as Niall coos at them, and Harry smiles so big it reaches her eyes. When she looks to the horizon, the blue water meeting the blue sky, she can see for miles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, whether you read the original fic in the past or just stumbled across the new version ! Kudos and Comments are always appreciated <3

**Author's Note:**

> Oops I'm writing gender swap now WHOOPS MY LIFE. Idk man they're just so cute and and girls are so cute I'm crying. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it, this was my first go at f/f but I think it turned out alright. 
> 
> If you liked it please kudos and comment, it means a lot. (:
> 
> \- Mattie


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